We know not how it is, but love at first sight is a subject of constant
ridicule; but, somehow, we suspect that it has more to do with the
affairs of this world than the world is willing to own. Eyes meet which
have never met before, and glances thrill with expression which is
strange. We contrast these pleasant sights and new emotions with
hackneyed objects and worn sensations. Another glance and another
thrill, and we spring into each other's arms. What can be more natural?
Ah, that we should awake so often to truth so bitter! Ah, that charm
by charm should evaporate from the talisman which had enchanted our
existence!
And so it was with this sweet woman, whose feelings grow under the pen.
She had repaired to a splendid assembly to play her splendid part
with the consciousness of misery, without the expectation of hope.
She awaited without interest the routine which had been so often
uninteresting; she viewed without emotion the characters which had never
moved. A stranger suddenly appeared upon the stage, fresh as the morning
dew, and glittering like the morning star. All eyes await, all tongues
applaud him.
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