In fact, the sky was gorgeous; the sun was sinking behind the horizon, in a hamlet of clouds, ruined and abandoned to the fury of the names of sunset; the darkened hills were shrouded in violet tints; through the light mists of the valley the river shone at intervals like the polished surface of a Damascus blade. The blue smoke ascended from the chimneys of the village of Andelys, nestling at the foot of the mountain; the silvery tones of the bells ringing the Angelus came to us on the evening breeze; Venus shone soft and pure in the western sky. Madame Taverneau had not yet joined us; Alfred's fascinations had made her forget her companion. Louise, uneasy at being so long separated from her chaperon, leaned over the edge of the battlement. A stone, which only needed the weight of a tired swallow to dislodge it, rolled from Under Louise's foot, who, terribly frightened, threw herself in my arms. I held her for a moment pressed to my heart. She was very pale; her head was thrown back, the dizziness of lofty heights had taken possession of her. "Do not let me fall; my head whirls!" "Fear not," I replied; "I am holding you, and the spirit of the gulf shall not have you." "Ouf! What an insane idea, to climb like cats over this old pile of stones!" cried Alfred, who had finally arrived, dragging after him Madame Taverneau, who with her shawl looked like a poppy in a corn-field. We left the tower and gained our boat. Louise threw me a tearful and grateful glance, and seated herself by Madame Taverneau. A tug-boat passed us; we hailed it; it threw us a rope, and in a few hours we were at Pont de l'Arche. This is a faithful account of our expedition; it is nothing, and yet a great deal. It is sufficient to show me that I possess some influence over Louise; that my look fascinates her, my voice affects her, my touch agitates her; for one moment I held her trembling against my heart; she did not repulse me. It is true that by a little feminine Jesuitism, common enough, she might ascribe all this to vertigo, a sort of vertigo common to youth and love, which has turned more heads than all the precipices of Mount Blanc! What a strange creature is Louise! An inexplicable mixture of acute intelligence and virgin modesty, displaying at the same time an ignorance and information never imagined. These piquant contrasts make me admire her all the more. The day after to-morrow Madame Taverneau is going on business to Rouen. Louise will be alone, and I intend to repeat the donjon scene, with improvements and deprived of the inopportune appearance of Madame Taverneau's yellow shawl and the luckless Alfred's green hunting-dress. What delicious dreams will visit me to-night in my hammock at Richeport! My next letter will begin, I hope, with this triumphant line of the Chevalier de Bertin: "Elle est à moi, divinités du Pinde!"