I asked your face only, and you gave me your
heart. For the unfaithfulness, for the wrath, for the unmanliness, for
the tyranny with which I treated you, my soul upbraids me."
"How thankful am I," she answered; "the terror to me was that you had
learned in the Quartier lessons to make your after-life monotonous. I am
happy."
Their hands met; to his gray beard fell the smile upon her mouth; they
forget the Quartier Latin; they felt no love but forgiveness, which is
the tenderest of emotions. The whistle blew shrilly; the train stopped;
Ralph Flare awoke from sleep; but the old couple were gone.
He went to Paris, and, contrary to his purpose, inquired for her. She
had been seen by none since his departure. He wrote to the Maire of her
commune, and this was the reply:
"_Ralph, Merci! Pardonne!_
"SUZETTE."
He felt no loss. He felt softened toward her only; and he turned his
back on the Quartier Latin with a man's easy satisfaction that he could
forget.
THE PIGEON GIRL.
On the sloping market-place,
In the village of Compeigne,
Every Saturday her face,
Like a Sunday, comes again;
Daylight finds her in her seat,
With her panier at her feet,
Where her pigeons lie in pairs;
Like their plumage gray her gown,
To her sabots drooping down;
And a kerchief, brightly brown,
Binds her smooth, dark hairs.
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