Yes--
Lucerne was a good deal jollier than Paris. And he roamed about among
the trees, never noticing their beautiful colours. Presently he paused
to rest. He was soothed--even peaceful. If he had Pike he could
really be quite happy, he thought.
What was that rustle among the leaves above him? He looked up, and
started then as violently almost as he had done the night
before. Because there, peeping at him from the tender green of the
young beeches, was the lady in black. She looked down upon him through
the parted boughs, her black hat and long black veil making a sharp
silhouette against the vivid verdure, her whole face in tender shadow
and framed in the misty gauze.
Paul's heart beat violently. He felt a pulse in his throat--for a few
seconds.
He knew he was gazing into her eyes, and he thought he knew they were
green. They looked larger than he had imagined them to be. They were
set so beautifully, too, just a suspicion of rise at the corners. And
their expression was mocking and compelling--and--But she let go the
branches and disappeared from view.
Paul stood still. He was thrilling all over. Should he bound in among
the trees and follow her? Should he call out and ask her to come back?
Should he--? But when he had decided and gained the spot where she
must have stood, he saw it was a junction of three paths, and he was
in perfect ignorance which one she had taken.
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