Suddenly she drew her arm out of his,
and with an exclamation of delight, sprang to a little bank by the
road-side, where she had spied a tiny violet, peeping out from amid
the dead leaves that had lain there all the winter through--the first
harbinger of spring, smiling up at her a friendly greeting, despite the
wintry cold of February. She knelt down and gently cleared away the dry
leaves and grass about it, carefully broke the frail little stem, and
returned to de Sigognac's side with her treasure--more delighted than if
she had found a precious jewel lying hidden among the mosses.
"Only see, how exquisitely beautiful and delicate it is"--said she,
showing it to him--"with its dear little petals scarcely unrolled yet
to return the greeting of this bright, warm sunshine, that has roused it
from its long winter sleep."
"It was not the sunshine, however bright and warm," answered de
Sigognac, "but the light of your eyes, sweet Isabelle, that made it open
out to greet you--and it is exactly the colour too of those dear eyes of
yours."
"It has scarcely any fragrance, but that is because it's so cold," said
Isabelle, loosening her scarf, and putting it carefully inside the ruff
that encircled her slender, white neck. In a few minutes she took it out
again, inhaled its rich perfume, pressed it furtively to her lips, and
offered it to de Sigognac.
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