Besides this
general expression of revery there was a languid look of suffering and
passion, which made it impossible to gaze once on that face without
bearing its ineffaceable image stamped forever in the memory. In a
word, hers was a contagious sickness of the soul, veiled in a shape of
beauty the most majestic and attractive that the dreams of mortal man
ever embodied.
I passed rapidly before her, bowing respectfully, and my deferential
air and downcast eyes seemed to ask forgiveness for having disturbed
her. A slight blush tinged her pale cheeks at my approach. I returned
to my room trembling and wondering that the evening air should thus
have chilled me. A few minutes later I saw her re-enter the house, and
cast one indifferent look at my window. I saw her again on the
following days, at the same hour, both in the garden and in the court,
but never dared to think of accosting her. I even met her sometimes
near the chalets, with the little girls who drove her donkey or picked
strawberries for her, at other times, in her boat on the lake; but I
never showed any sign of recognition or interest, beyond a grave and
respectful bow; she would return it with an air of melancholy
abstraction, and we each went our separate ways, on the hills or on the
waters.
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