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Updated: June 16, 2025
So by and by our engagement was broken off, which was probably the best thing for us both." "Has Colonel Dalton ever married?" Nona inquired inconsequentially. Her companion shook her head. "Really, I don't know. Suppose we walk on now to the hut where your little French girl Nicolete once lived."
It was beautiful to remember Petrarch's description of his golden-haired, dark-eyed love, fair and tall as a lily, sitting in the grass among the violets, where her bare feet gleamed whiter than the daisies when she took off her sandals. Even Nicolete, flower of Provençal song, had no whiter feet than Laura, I am sure!
Would you still bid me go?" "Yes," I said. "In that case it would be even more imperative." "Aucassin!" "It is true, it is true, dear Nicolete." "Then, Aucassin," she replied, almost sternly, in her great girlish love, "this is true also, I love you. I have never loved, shall never love, any man but you!" "Nicolete!" "Aucassin!"
The love of a recluse is not God's kind only running water is pure; the living love of a live man and woman absolves itself, refines, benefits, and blesses, though it be the love of Aucassin and Nicolete, Plutarch and Laura, Paola and Francesca, Abelard and Heloise, and they go to hell for it. From his thirty-fourth year to his forty-sixth Swedenborg wrote nothing for publication.
"Well, I have heard it all, weighed it all," said Nicolete, presently; "and to me it is but as thistledown against the love within my heart. Will you cast away a woman who loves you for theories? You know you love me, know I love you. We should have our trials, our ups and downs, I know; but surely it is by those that true love learns how to grow more true and strong. Oh, I cannot argue!
You are too young to realise its danger. And I couldn't bear to see our love worn away by the daily dropping of tears, not to speak of its being rent by the dynamite of daily quarrels. We know each other's tastes, but we know hardly anything of each other's natures." Nicolete looked at me strangely. 'Troth, it was a strange way to make love, I knew. "And what else?" she asked somewhat coldly.
Here had I but a few moments ago been holding in my hands the very dream I had set out to find, and here was I secretly rejoicing to be robbed of it! If Nicolete did not fulfil the conditions of that mystical Golden Girl, in professed search for whom I had set out that spring morning, well, the good genius of my pilgrimage felt it time to resign.
But, really, there is no need to lecture me upon the charms and virtues of Nicolete, for I loved them from the first moment of our strange introduction, and I dream of them still.
Past the dreary lake, through the little pine-wood I ran, and then I was brought to a halt, panting, by cross-roads and a finger-post. An involuntary memory of Nicolete sang to me as I read the quaint names of the villages to one of which the Vision was certainly wending. Yes! I was bound on one more journey to the moon, but alas! there was no heavenly being by my side to point the way.
"Milk and honey" would have been an appropriate inscription for the delicious little library which parents who, I surmised, doted on Nicolete in vain, had allowed her to build in a wild woodland corner of her ancestral park, half a mile away from the great house, where, for all its corridors and galleries, she could never feel, at all events, spiritually alone.
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