In the midst of the park was a large lake. I had a gondola or barge constructed, rigged with awnings, curtains, and carpets; besides, there were soft cushions and a tea-table; here very often, when the evenings were fine, Hélène, her mother, Sophie, and I would spend delightful hours. In the middle of the lake was a small wooded island, crowned by a kiosk for music, and frequently I sent to the neighbouring town, where there was a military garrison, for three excellent German musicians who, hidden in the pavilion, played us lovely trios for alto, flute, and harp. In order to be alone in the barge, and to prevent feeling the motion of the oars, I had it towed at the end of a long rope fastened to a small boat, which two of the men servants rowed ahead of us. How often thus rocked by the waves, dreamily listening to the drip of the distant oar, breathing the aroma of the tea, or cooling our lips with snowy sherbets, we would suddenly be enchanted by a sudden burst of harmony coming to us from the island, while around us the fields and great forest-trees were bathed in the clear moonlight! How many long evenings have I passed thus at Hélène's side! How intoxicating were these waves of melody, now sweet and sonorous, now dying in sudden silence! I remember that these pauses caused us to feel the most delicious sadness. The ear at last becomes weary of sounds, no matter how harmonious they may be, but music, interrupted now and then by a pause, which gives one the time to think of what has gone before, to listen, as it were, in your heart to the echo of those last plaintive vibrations,--music thus interrupted has an added charm, and makes one sigh for more. During these delightful moments I was always seated at Hélène's side, holding her hand in mine; and we thus, by a gentle pressure, which was for us a mute language, exchanged our heartfelt and varied thoughts; sometimes even--intoxicating and chaste privilege!--I seized the opportunity, which a moment of obscurity afforded me, of leaning my head on Hélène's white shoulder. Her slender figure would then bend in a more languishing curve than ever. But, alas! these beautiful dreams were doomed to have a bitter awakening. It was at the close of a November day; I was on the way home to the château, on foot, with Hélène, Mlle. de Verteuil, and my tutor, who had now become my intendant. The weather was dark and cloudy; the sun was about to set; we were walking along the edge of the forest, which was already here and there brightened by the tints of autumn. The silvery-barked birch-trees seemed to be showering down golden leaves; the thorn-bushes, the creepers, and the wild blackberries had all turned a beautiful glowing red.