"After all," thought Croustillac, halting, "this eater of missionaries is not lacking in good sense; I threatened him first with throwing him into the water, and after what I have seen I am obliged to confess that I should have found it hard to do so, and then it would have been rather a dishonorable way in which to dispose of a rival! Ah, the evening is slow in coming. Thank God! the sun is setting, the night will soon fall; the moon will rise and I shall know my fate; the widow will tell me everything, I shall unravel all the profound mystery which is hidden from me now. Let me think over the sonnet which I have reserved for a grand effect--it is intended to describe the beauty of her eyes. Perhaps she has never heard a sonnet--possibly she will be sensible of its beauty and spirit; but no, I cannot hope for that happiness." Pacing the path with long strides, Croustillac began to declaim his verses: "They are not eyes, they are two gods, Which are robed in power complete. Gods? nay, they are the heavens----" The adventurer was not to finish his verse, for Mirette came to inform him that her mistress was awaiting him at supper. The Caribbean never partook of this meal, and Croustillac was to be alone with the widow. She seemed dreamy and said little; she started involuntarily and frequently. "What troubles you, madame?" said Croustillac, also preoccupied. "I do not know; strange presentiments, but I am foolish. It is your gloomy face that gives me the blues," she added, with a forced smile. "Come, amuse me a little, chevalier. Youmaeale is doubtless at this moment worshiping certain stars, and I am surprised at not seeing him; but it rests with you to make me forget his absence." "Here is an excellent opportunity to produce my sonnet," said the Gascon to himself. "If I dared, madame, I would recite some little verses which might, perhaps, interest you." "Verses--how? are you a poet, chevalier?" "All lovers are, madame." "That is an admission--you are in love, in order to be entitled to be a poet?" "No, madame," said Croustillac sadly. "I am in love by right of suffering." "And to chant your sad martyrdom--let us hear the verses." "The verses, madame, do all in their power to picture two blue eyes, blue and beautiful, like yours; it is a sonnet." "Let us have this sonnet." And Croustillac recited the following lines in a languorous and impassioned tone: "They are not eyes, rather gods are they, They are above kings in power true. Gods, no! they are the heavens of tender blue, And their radiant glance makes kings obey." "One must choose, chevalier," said Blue Beard; "are they eyes, or gods, or the heavens?" Croustillac's reply was a happy one: "The heavens, no! each a radiant sun Whose burning rays but blind the view. Suns? not so, but light so strong, so true, They predict the love but just begun!"