She considered every
disappointment as a pang of her own infliction, and her heart sickened
under the careworn expression of the maternal eye. At length this
suspense became insupportable. She left the village and hastened to
Honfleur, hoping every hour, every moment, to receive some tidings of
her lover. She paced the pier, and wearied the seamen of the port with
her inquiries. She made a daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Lady
of Grace; hung votive garlands on the wall, and passed hours either
kneeling before the altar, or looking out from the brow of the hill
upon the angry sea.
At length word was brought that the long-wished-for vessel was in
sight. She was seen standing into the mouth of the Seine, shattered
and crippled, bearing marks of having been sadly tempest-tost. There
was a general joy diffused by her return; and there was not a brighter
eye, nor a lighter heart, than Annette's, in the little port of
Honfleur. The ship came to anchor in the river, and shortly after a
boat put off for the shore. The populace crowded down to the
pier-head, to welcome it. Annette stood blushing, and smiling, and
trembling, and weeping; for a thousand painfully-pleasing emotions
agitated her breast at the thoughts of the meeting and reconciliation
about to take place.
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