Page:Two Scenes in the Life of Anne Boleyn.pdf/3

sweet quickness on the banks of the Seine. Strange how soon her thoughts wandered from the lonely meeting by moonlight, to the gayer scenes where the young English couple were allowed to be the most graceful in the saraband. Were I a lover, I would not have la dame de mes pensées delight in those associations with myself where I contributed to her amusement, or flattered her vanity; I would ask her saddest thoughts—I would have her recall the stars that we had watched, and the flowers that we had gathered. I would fain connect my image with all that makes the poetry of woman's nature. The city and the crowd unidealise love; and love, in the young warm heart of a girl, should be a dream apart from all commoner emotions—as sweet and as ethereal as the blush with which it is born and dies. Beauty gives its own gracefulness to love—there must be romance blended with the passion inspired by the very lovely face which the mirror reflected. The lady was fair,—of that peculiar and rosy fairness which belongs to auburn hair. The cheek seemed almost transparent, so various was the crimson that ebbed and flowed on its rounded surface. Her figure was carelessly wrapped in a loose gown, trimmed with fur; but its grace indicated its symmetry. The hood was put aside, and her long hair, without any restraint, fell on her shoulders. It had that sunny shade which changes in every light;—by day, it was a soft warm chestnut, which at night looked like threads of gold. She raised its rich mass in her slender hands, and began twisting it into fantastic braids. Suddenly she let it fall. "What does it matter how I look?—there is no one here to see!" exclaimed she, with a pretty petulance which suited well with her mignon features. "Do not be so sure of that!" said a voice behind her. She started from her seat, as a cavalier advanced;—she at once recognised him, and dropped on her knee to greet her royal visitor.