Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 16, 2025
The lady was quiet and tender, her eyes melting upon Paul, and something of her ring-dove mood was upon her again. Not once, since they had been on the Buergenstock, had she shown any of the tigerish waywardness that he had had glimpses of at first. It seemed as if her moods, like her chameleon eyes, took colour from her surroundings, and there all was primitive simplicity and nature and peace.
And here at the Buergenstock, when he got into his room, his letters stared him in the face. "Damned officiousness!" he said to himself, thinking of Tompson. He did not want to be reminded of any existence other than the dream of heaven he was now enjoying. Oh! they were all very real and material, these epistles quite of earth! One was from his mother.
Now, although his master was quite oblivious of posts, Tompson was not, and that Monday he took occasion to go into Lucerne, whence he returned with a pile of letters, which Paul found on again reaching the Buergenstock, after staying the night at Flueelen in a little hotel. That had been an experience! His lady quite childish in her glee at the smallness and simplicity of everything.
He was living at all events living as he had never dreamed was possible. And yet, poor Paul, he was only on the rim of all that he was soon to know of life. At last he fell asleep, one sentence ringing in his ears "Tears and cold steel and blood!" But if he was young, he was a gallant gentleman, and Fear had no place in his dreams. Next day they went to the Buergenstock to stay.
He had written to her, on awaking, a coherent torrent of love, marvellously unlike the letter which had gone to poor Isabella only a few days before. In this to his lady he had said he could not bear it now, the uncertainty of seeing her, and had suggested the Buergenstock crudely, without any of the clever details which afterwards made it possible.
Ah! that was a thought, if that could ever be! All the way back in the carriage he could only kiss her. Their emotion seemed too deep for words. And this night was the most divine of any they had spent on the Buergenstock. But there was in it an essence about which only the angels could write.
But the colour of her eyes he could not be sure of only they were two wells of love and passion gazing into his own. All the simplicity of the Buergenstock surroundings was gone.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking