Suddenly the sound of a horn was heard, and at
a little distance he saw the beautiful Yolande de Foix, radiant and
charming as ever, riding slowly by--apparently returning from the chase.
He followed her with his eyes admiringly, but felt no regret as her
figure was lost to view amid the thick gorse bushes bordering the road
down which she was going, and turned with ever increasing love and
adoration to the sweet being at his side. The memory of the fair
Yolande, whom he had once worshipped in a vague, boyish way, faded
before the delicious reality of his passionate love for Isabelle;
who satisfied so fully every requirement of his nature, and had so
thoroughly healed the wound made by the scorn and ridicule of the other,
that it seemed to be entirely forgotten then.
It was not easy for de Sigognac to rouse himself after this entrancing
vision, which had been so startlingly real, and fix his attention upon
the verses he had promised to revise and alter for Isabelle, but when at
last he had succeeded, he threw himself into his task with enthusiasm,
and wrote far into the night--inspired by the thought of the sweet lips
that had called him her poet, and that were to pronounce the words he
penned; and he was rewarded for his exertions by Isabelle's sweetest
smile, and warmest praise and gratitude.
Pages:
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360