Montigny seemed for awhile to listen to his heart;
then, looking at her, replied:

"Surer than is assurance itself I am yours. Say
that you are mine, and every further word shall
seem only to be redundant and apochryphal; for when
love's lips have made their revelation, what more
is wanting to complete the canon."

"Believe that I have said it," she half whispered;
then, starting, and changing color, "hist, hist," she
added, "once more I hear it: heard _you_ nothing?"

"I nothing heard but you," replied Montigny:
"Proceed; for your voice is sweeter to me than plash-
ing fountain's, or than Saint Laurent's chimes, or
than would be -- could we hear it -- the fabulous mu-
sic of those night-hung spheres, coming harmonious
to our listening ears, borne on the shoulders of the
cherub winds. Why are you silent?"

"Listen," she said, looking still more alarmed.

"I do," he answered.

"Yet heard you nothing?"

"Nothing but ourselves."

"Nothing besides?"

"What further should I hear?" he asked.

"And yet it seemed as if I heard another," she
continued. "Are we watched? speak, tell me," she
demanded, -- "I hear it again; listen."

Montigny listened a moment, then replied sooth-
ingly:

"Dismiss these pale-cheeked panics, for you hear
nothing; or if you do it is but the common voices of
the night. It is merely the hoarse bullfrog croaking
in the swamp; and the green grasshopper a chirrup-
ping in the meadow; for, saving these, all nature

[[43]]

p042 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p043w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p044

v?