“Come, we have had quite enough of Master Cupid, and his supposed capabilities of making people miserable or happy, as the case may be. I know for my part the little wretch shall take the bandage off his own eyes before he blinds mine, for I verily declare I consider all people in love nothing more than a set of poor deluded mortals—moths about a flame. Now turn, both of you and look at this view, there’s the grotto and the rocks of Menin; and there, about two miles off, on that high bank with the noble forest behind it, stands the château of the Monsieur or Captain Gramont my father was speaking about the other day.” “I had no idea of seeing any spot half so picturesque and lovely,” cried Marie, rousing from the reverie she seemed plunged in; and gazing into the lieutenant’s face with such a look of confiding affection, that had they been alone he would have thrown himself at her feet, and avowed that love so plainly shown by every look and action; that devotion, which, no matter whether alone or in the presence of Madame Plessis and her daughter, he made no effort to conceal. He had been told she was an orphan, and going to England with the intention of trusting to her talents for support. Then what was to hinder him from loving her and throwing himself at her feet? his heart told him she would not scorn his affection, every difficulty therefore vanished. Where is the difficulty that will not disappear before a lover, satisfied of his fair one’s faith and truth? The scenery would have been unnoticed but for Julia’s call on his attention. Politeness compelled him to rouse himself, and looking around he declared that Julia’s previous description—a description that had called up his wish to view the Hermit’s Grotto—was exceeded by the reality. It certainly was a glowing and charming picture. The path on which they were standing was apparently intercepted by a range of extremely picturesque rocks of immense size, looking like detached masses piled one upon another. The recesses were covered with an infinite variety of parasite plants, mosses, and flowering shrubs, and the summits covered with groups of stunted pines. Through the heart of this singular barrier of rocks, nearly half a mile in length, the trout stream rushed with considerable violence, falling a height of above thirty feet, in one broad sheet, into a beautiful pool of deep pellucid water, more than a thousand feet in circumference. The stream then fell over a low range of rock, and pursued its course, tumbling and foaming over detached rocks, till it reached a level track running through some rich pasture meadows. Close beside the pool, and seemingly scooped out of the rock, was the grotto, its sides covered with the luxuriant foliage of the wild fig, whilst from the top hung festoons of the flowery jessamine, which grew in wild profusion over the rocks. “I do not wonder,” said Lieutenant Thornton, “that the good hermit lived to a good old age in this charming spot.”