CHAPTER XXXI. THE DRYAD.

Thespringwasadvancing,andtheweatherhadturnedsuddenlywarm.Thischangeoftemperaturebroughtwithitforme,asprobablyformanyothers,temporarydecreaseofstrength.Slightexertionatthistimeleftmeovercomewithfatigue—sleeplessnightsentailedlanguiddays. OneSundayafternoon,havingwalkedthedistanceofhalfaleaguetotheProtestantchurch,Icamebackwearyandexhaustedandtakingrefugeinmysolitarysanctuary,thefirstclasse,Iwasgladtositdown,andtomakeofmydeskapillowformyarmsandhead. AwhileIlistenedtothelullabyofbeeshummingintheberceau,andwatched,throughtheglassdoorandthetender,lightly-strewnspringfoliage,MadameBeckandagaypartyoffriends,whomshehadentertainedthatdayatdinneraftermorningmass,walkinginthecentre-alleyunderorchardboughsdressedatthisseasoninblossom,andwearingacolouringaspureandwarmasmountain-snowatsun-rise. Myprincipalattractiontowardsthisgroupofguestslay,Iremember,inonefigure—thatofahandsomeyounggirlwhomIhadseenbeforeasavisitoratMadameBeck’s,andofwhomIhadbeenvaguelytoldthatshewasa“filleule,”orgod-daughter,ofM.Emanuel’s,andthatbetweenhermother,oraunt,orsomeotherfemalerelationofhers,andtheProfessor,hadexistedofoldaspecialfriendship.M.Paulwasnotoftheholidaybandto-day,butIhadseenthisyounggirlwithhimerenow,andasfarasdistantobservationcouldenablemetojudge,sheseemedtoenjoyhimwiththefrankeaseofawardwithanindulgentguardian.Ihadseenherrunuptohim,putherarmthroughhis,andhanguponhim.Once,whenshedidso,acurioussensationhadstruckthroughme—adisagreeableanticipatorysensation—oneofthefamilyofpresentiments,Isuppose—butIrefusedtoanalyzeordwelluponit.Whilewatchingthisgirl,MademoiselleSauveurbyname,andfollowingthegleamofherbrightsilkrobe(shewasalwaysrichlydressed,forshewassaidtobewealthy)throughtheflowersandtheglancingleavesoftenderemerald,myeyesbecamedazzled—theyclosedmylassitude,thewarmthoftheday,thehumofbeesandbirds,alllulledme,andatlastIslept. Twohoursstoleoverme.EreIwoke,thesunhaddeclinedoutofsightbehindthetoweringhouses,thegardenandtheroomweregrey,beeshadgonehomeward,andtheflowerswereclosingthepartyofguests,too,hadvanishedeachalleywasvoid. Onwaking,Ifeltmuchatease—notchill,asIoughttohavebeenaftersittingsostillforatleasttwohoursmycheekandarmswerenotbenumbedbypressureagainsttheharddesk.Nowonder.InsteadofthebarewoodonwhichIhadlaidthem,Ifoundathickshawl,carefullyfolded,substitutedforsupport,andanothershawl(bothtakenfromthecorridorwheresuchthingshung)wrappedwarmlyroundme. Whohaddonethis?Whowasmyfriend?Whichoftheteachers?Whichofthepupils?None,exceptSt.Pierre,wasinimicaltomebutwhichofthemhadtheart,thethought,thehabit,ofbenefitingthustenderly?Whichofthemhadastepsoquiet,ahandsogentle,butIshouldhaveheardorfelther,ifshehadapproachedortouchedmeinaday-sleep? AstoGinevraFanshawe,thatbrightyoungcreaturewasnotgentleatall,andwouldcertainlyhavepulledmeoutofmychair,ifshehadmeddledinthematter.Isaidatlast:“ItisMadameBeck’sdoingshehascomein,seenmeasleep,andthoughtImighttakecold.Sheconsidersmeausefulmachine,answeringwellthepurposeforwhichitwashiredsowouldnothavemeneedlesslyinjured.Andnow,”methought,“I’lltakeawalktheeveningisfresh,andnotverychill.” SoIopenedtheglassdoorandsteppedintotheberceau. Iwenttomyownalley:haditbeendark,orevendusk,Ishouldhavehardlyventuredthere,forIhadnotyetforgottenthecuriousillusionofvision(ifillusionitwere)experiencedinthatplacesomemonthsago.ButarayofthesettingsunburnishedstillthegreycrownofJeanBaptistenorhadallthebirdsofthegardenyetvanishedintotheirnestsamongstthetuftedshrubsandthickwall-ivy.Ipacedupanddown,thinkingalmostthesamethoughtsIhadponderedthatnightwhenIburiedmyglassjar—howIshouldmakesomeadvanceinlife,takeanothersteptowardsanindependentpositionforthistrainofreflection,thoughnotlatelypursued,h