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Updated: June 20, 2025
"Stephen Cordier," was the answer. Without hesitation, even proudly, she spoke it. She had compelled him to ask the name! "And who are you?" he asked; and if he felt displeasure, as if his sympathy, of which he was so chary, had been stolen from him, he did not allow it to appear. "Elizabeth Montier," she replied. "That is no answer. What is a name, if it conveys no meaning to my mind?"
But both the heart and the imagination of Adolphus Montier stood in the way of such utterance as he had prepared.
It required not many seasons for Elizabeth to prove her skill and diligence in the culture of this garden-ground, not many for the transformation of square, awkward beds into a mass of bloom. How did those flowers delight the generous heart! With what particular splendor shone the house of Montier through all the summer season!
She perceived that they would be close to the flower-garden; a minute's walk would lead them to the pleasant woods, and Pauline Montier always loved the woods. Indeed, when she began to take this ground, the first steps of occupation alone could be timid or doubtful.
The result was, that Elizabeth's words, and not so much her words as the state of things she contrived to make apparent by them, brought Adolphus Montier to a clear, resistless sense of the prisoner's fate. Over the features of that fate he was for days brooding. Now and then a word that indicated the direction of his thinking would escape him in his wife's hearing.
For the first time in their lives they sat down by the side of the lonely road where they had emerged from the wood; Elizabeth's memory served her to recall every air that was sweet to her, and she listened while her father played, endeavoring to understand the sound those notes would have to "Manuel." Montier could think of no worthier employment than the practice of his music.
To turn, however, to other things, my perseverance on behalf of Kondjé-Gul is at last rewarded with complete success. After I had spent a whole week in looking about, I found, in the Beaujou district, an institution for young ladies presided over by a Madame Montier, a kind woman of polished manners.
He must go and see Colonel Farel, he said, by way of excuse, and he must see the doctor. It would have been a dangerous experiment, had Pauline persisted in the endeavor to discover how much he could endure. Montier felt that he was not fit for family deliberation now, and wisely made his escape from it.
When we came to the Place, the old Man found them to be his; but suffered his Transports of Joy to rise so high, that I was ashamed of his behavior; for he fell a hallooing, and threw up his Montier Cap in the Air several times, till he raised the Neighbors out of their Beds to see what was the Matter.
It was she, then, who alone was unwilling to sacrifice her present home for the sake of a stranger and prisoner! Now Pauline Montier was a good Christian woman, and various words of holy utterance began herewith to trouble her. And from a by no means tranquil musing over them, she began to ask herself, What, after all, was home?
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