The Youth of Jefferson Part 36

"The--fields?" says Belle-bouche, thoughtfully gazing upon her fan.

"Yes; and the shepherd's life is certainly the happiest. Ah! to love and be loved under the skies--in Arcady! But Arcady is everywhere when the true heart is near. To love and be loved!" says Jacques with a sad sigh; "to know there is one near you whose whole heart is yours--whose bosom would willingly support the weary head; to have a heart to bring all your sorrows to; to feel that the sky was brighter, and all the stars more friendly and serene, if she were by you; to love and love, and never change, and live a life of happy dreams, however active it might be, when the dear image swept across the horizon! To give the heart and mind out in a sigh, and seal the vow of faith and truth upon loving lips! In a word--one word speaks it all--to love! Yes, yes! to love! To feel the horizon expand around you till it seems to embrace every thing; to love innocently, purely, under the holy heavens; to love till the dying hour, and then, clasped in a pure embrace, to go away together to another world!--Only to love!"

And Jacques raises his eyes to the blus.h.i.+ng face of Belle-bouche.

"Is it not fair to think of?" he says sadly.

She tries to smile, and can only murmur, "Yes."

"I fear it is but a dream," says Jacques.

She does not reply: she wishes a moment to collect her thoughts and regain her calmness.

"A dream," he continues, "which many poor fellows dream, and live in, and make a reality of--alas! never to be realized."

"Perhaps the world has changed since the old Arcadian days," murmurs Belle-bouche, gazing down with rosy cheeks, and a bad attempt at ease.

"You know the earth has become different."

"Yes, yes," sighs Jacques; "I very much fear all this is folly."

"Who knows but----"

She pauses.

Jacques raises his eyes, and their glances meet. She stops abruptly, and looks away. It is not affectation in her. That deep blush is wholly irrepressible.

Jacques seizes her hand, and says:

"Give me the a.s.surance that such things can be! Tell me that this dream could be realized!"

She turns away.

"Tell me!" he continues, bending toward her, "tell me, if _I_ were to love any one thus--say it were yourself--tell me, beautiful Belle-bouche! could I hope----"

"Oh, sir! I cannot now----"

"Belle-bouche! dearest Belle-bouche!--my picture was a reality--I love as I have painted--and upon my knees----"

"----car chantez, Belle bouche rechignez,"

sang the voice of Sir Asinus, entering from the garden; and our unfortunate friend Jacques had just time to drop Belle-bouche's hand, when Sir Asinus entered.

"You're a pretty fellow!" said that worthy, "to frighten me, and make me believe you were the--Well; let us keep up appearances before the ladies. How goes it, my dear Jacques?"

Jacques does not answer; he feels an unchristian desire to exterminate his friend Sir Asinus from the face of the earth--to blot that gentleman forcibly from the sum of things.

Actuated by these friendly feelings, he gives the knight a look which nearly takes his breath away.

"Why, what is the matter?" says Sir Asinus.

Jacques sees the false position which he occupies, and groans.

"Why, dear Jacques, you distress me," says Sir Asinus with great warmth; "did I tread upon your toes?"

Jacques might very justly reply in the affirmative, but he only turns away muttering disconsolately, "One more chance!"

"I thought you were the proctor," says Sir Asinus pleasantly.

"Did you? I am going back soon, and will send him," replies Jacques with sad courtesy.

"No! don't trouble yourself!" cries Sir Asinus; "it is not necessary."

"It is no trouble," says Jacques; "but as you are probably about to return to town yourself, I will not send him."

"To town? Indeed, I am about to do no such thing. It is not every day that one gets a taste of the country."

"You stay?"

"Yes."

Jacques groans, and imprecates--sleep to descend upon his friend.

He sits down wofully. Sir Asinus scenting the joke, and determined to revenge himself, does the same joyfully. Jacques sighs, Sir Asinus laughs. Jacques directs an Olympian frown at his opponent, but Sir Asinus answers it with smiles.

Belle-bouche all this time has been endeavoring to produce the impression that she is looking over a book of engravings--being interested in Heidelberg, and fascinated with the Alhambra. From time to time her timid glance steals toward Jacques, who is sighing, or toward Sir Asinus, who is laughing.

Sir Asinus glories in his revenge. Jacques refused to tell him the news, and maligned his character to the Doctor, and forced him to listen in silence to that abuse. He takes his promised revenge--for he understands very well what he interrupted.

Jacques stays all the morning, hoping that Sir Asinus will depart; but that gentleman betrays no intention of vacating the premises. Finally, in a paroxysm of internal rage, and a perfect outward calmness, the graceful Jacques retires--with a last look for Belle-bouche.

One thought consoles him. He will escort her to the ball, and on his return in his two-seated curriculum defy the interruption of all the Asinuses that ever lived.

Poor Jacques! as he goes sadly back, the cloud rising upon the dream is more asleep than ever.

CHAPTER XXII.

HOW HOFFLAND PREFERRED A GLOVE TO A DOZEN PISTOLES.

One of the most beautiful walks in the neighborhood of Williamsburg was known to the fair dames and gallant cavaliers of that epoch as the "Indian Camp."

To this spot, on the morning of the day fixed for the ball at the _Raleigh_, did Mowbray and the young student Hoffland direct their steps, conversing pleasantly, and glad of the occasion to enjoy the fresh beauties of nature, which presented so agreeable a contrast to the domains of study at the good College of William and Mary. Let it not, however, be imagined that the boy Hoffland was in the habit, as Panurge said, of "breaking his head with study." Not at all. The remissness of that young gentleman in his attendance upon the lectures of the professors, had become by this time almost a proverb. Indeed, his attendance was the exception--his absence the rule. Buried in his quarters, in the neighborhood of Gloucester street, he seemed to exist in a pleasant disregard of all the rules and regulations of the college; and when the professors attempted to reason with him--which, was seldom, inasmuch as they scarcely ever saw him--he would acknowledge his sins very readily, and as readily promise amendment; and then, after the well-known fas.h.i.+on of sinners, return to his evil courses, and become more remiss than ever.

Mowbray would often remonstrate with him on this neglect of his studies; but Hoffland always turned aside his advice with some amusing speech, or humorous banter. When the elder student said, "Now, Charles, as your friend I counsel you not to throw away your time and dissipate your mind;" to this Hoffland would reply, "Yes, you are right, Ernest; the morning, as you say, is lovely." Or when Mowbray would say, "Charles, you are incorrigible;" "Yes," Hoffland would reply, with his winning smile, "I knew how much you liked me."