She passed on from the chapel without noticing the fete, but smiling
and speaking to many as she passed. I followed her with my eye as she
descended the winding road towards Honfleur, leaning on her father's
arm. "Heaven," thought I, "has ever its store of balms for the hurt
mind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this broken flower to
be once more the pride and joy of the valley. The very delusion in
which the poor girl walks, may be one of those mists kindly diffused
by Providence over the regions of thought, when they become too
fruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised which obscures
the horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly to
contemplate the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view."
On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, I turned off from
the beaten route at Rouen, to revisit some of the most striking scenes
of Lower Normandy. Having passed through the lovely country of the
Pays d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a fine afternoon, intending to
cross to Havre the next morning, and embark for England. As I had no
better way of passing the evening, I strolled up the hill to enjoy the
fine prospect from the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace; and while there,
I thought of inquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre.
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