A great change, too, had taken place in all the feelings of Charles Durand. As he wandered on with Julie, he wondered that the beauties of nature had never before struck him as they did now. He asked himself what madness could have taught him to enjoy the false brightness, the unmeaning whirl, the lying gaiety of such a place as Paris; and, as he looked at the fair simple girl by his side, he learnt heartily to despise the artificial beings with whom he had been accustomed to mingle. One bright summer evening, they passed by the spot where they had first met. The same colouring was on the trees, the same bright hues were glowing in the west, but every thing was richer and lovelier in their eyes. "Oh, Julie," said Charles, "how I shall ever bless this spot! I remember standing by yon old triumphal arch on the hill, and looking over the wide scene of abundance displayed below. It was rich, it was beautiful; but as I descended into this valley there was a sweet calmness, a lovely repose, which left the heart nothing to wish for, and far more than compensated for the expanse of the other landscape. Surely it was a type of what I was to feel after having seen you. Before, the gay world of the capital and its wide indistinct society seemed to offer a life of delight not to be met with any where else. But now, to be with you thus constantly, and separated from all the world but you, is a happiness far beyond my brightest dreams. It has made me a miser. I would admit none to share it with me for worlds." Julie answered nothing, but she looked up in Charles's face with a glance that he had no difficulty in translating. A moment after the beam in her eye passed away, and was followed by a slight sigh. Charles would needs have it translated too, and as he could not do it himself, he applied, to its author. Julie said that she did not know that she had sighed. Charles assured her that she certainly had. "I was thinking at that moment," answered Julie, "that I ought as soon as possible to communicate this to my father. Perhaps it was that which made me sigh; for though I am sure he loves me, yet he is naturally so stern that sometimes he frightens me." A cloud came over Charles Durand's brow, for she forcibly recalled his thoughts to the point from which he had long essayed to banish them, and he begged that she would delay the communication she proposed until he had time to write to his father and ask his consent to their union. Julie looked down, and contending emotions called the blood into her cheek. There was something in the idea of the least concealment repugnant to the bright candour of her mind; and she told Charles that she was sure it never could be right.