The Line of Love. Dizain des Mariages

that had sat to his left and to his right were no longer there to trouble Florian with memories. And Florian saw that the mists of Walburga's Eve had departed, and that the sun was rising, and that the graveyard was all overgrown with nettles and tall grass.

He had not remembered the place being thus, and it seemed to him the night had passed with unnatural quickness. But he thought more of the fact that he had been beguiled into spending his wedding-night in a graveyard, in such questionable company, and of what explanation he could make to Adelaide.

2. Of Young Persons in May

The tale tells how Florian de Puysange came in the dawn through flowering gardens, and heard young people from afar, already about their maying. Two by two he saw them from afar as they went with romping and laughter into the tall woods behind Storisende to fetch back the May-pole with dubious old rites. And as they went they sang, as was customary, that song which Raimbaut de Vaqueiras made in the ancient time in honor of May's ageless triumph.

Sang they:

'May shows with godlike showing 
To-day for each that sees 
May's magic overthrowing 
All musty memories 
In him whom May decrees 
To be love's own. He saith, 
'I wear love's liveries 
Until released by death.'

'Thus all we laud May's sowing, 
Nor heed how harvests please 
When nowhere grain worth growing 
Greets autumn's questing breeze, 
And garnerers garner these— 
Vain words and wasted breath 
And spilth and tasteless lees— 
Until released by death.

'Unwillingly foreknowing 
That love with May-time flees, 
We take this day's bestowing, 
And feed on fantasies 
Such as love lends for ease 
Where none but travaileth, 
With lean infrequent fees, 
Until released by death_.'

And Florian shook his sleek black head. 'A very foolish and pessimistical old song, a superfluous song, and a song that is particularly out of place in the loveliest spot in the loveliest of all possible worlds.'

Yet Florian took no inventory of the gardens. There was but a happy sense of green and gold, with blue topping all; of twinkling, fluent, tossing leaves and of the gray under side of elongated, straining leaves; a sense of pert bird noises, and of a longer shadow than usual slanting before him, and a sense of youth and well-being everywhere. Certainly it was not a morning wherein pessimism might hope to flourish.

Instead, it was of Adelaide that Florian thought: of the tall, impulsive, and yet timid, fair girl who was both shrewd and innocent, and of her tenderly colored loveliness, and of his abysmally unmerited felicity in having won her. Why, but what, he reflected, grimacing—what if he had too hastily married somebody else? For he had earlier fancied other women for one reason or another: but this, he knew, was the great love of his life, and a love which would endure unchanged as long as his life lasted.

3. What Comes of Marrying Happily

The tale tells how Florian de Puysange found Adelaide in the company of two ladies who were unknown to him. One of these was very old, the other an imposing matron in middle life. The three were pleasantly shaded by young oak-trees; beyond was a tall hedge of clipped yew. The older women were at chess, while Adelaide bent her meek golden head to some of that fine needlework in which the girl delighted. And beside them rippled a small sunlit stream, which babbled and gurgled with silver flashes. Florian hastily noted these things as he ran laughing to his wife.

'Heart's dearest—!' he cried. And he saw, perplexed, that Adelaide had risen with a faint wordless cry, and was gazing at him as though she were puzzled and alarmed a very little.

'Such an adventure as I have to tell you of!' says Florian then.

'But, hey, young man, who are you that would seem to know my daughter so well?' demands the lady in middle life, and she rose majestically from her chess-game.

Florian stared, as he well might. 'Your daughter, madame! But certainly you are not Dame Melicent.'

At this the old, old woman raised her nodding head. 'Dame Melicent? And was it I you were seeking, sir?'

Now Florian looked from one to the other of these incomprehensible strangers, bewildered: and his eyes came back to his lovely wife, and his lips smiled irresolutely. 'Is this some jest to punish me, my dear?'

But then a new and graver trouble kindled in his face, and his eyes narrowed, for there was something odd about his wife also.

'I have been drinking in queer company,' he said. 'It must be that my head is not yet clear. Now certainly it seems to me that you are Adelaide de la Foret, and certainly it seems to me that you are not Adelaide.'

The girl replied, 'Why, no, messire; I am Sylvie de Nointel.'

'Come, come,' says the middle-aged lady, briskly, 'let us make an end to this play-acting, and, young fellow, let us have a sniff at you. No, you are not tipsy, after all. Well, I am glad of that. So let us get to the bottom of this business. What do they call you when you are at home?'

'Florian de Puysange,' he answered, speaking meekly enough. This capable large person was to the young man rather intimidating.

'La!' said she. She looked at him very hard. She nodded gravely two or three times, so that her double chin opened and shut. 'Yes, and you favor him. How old are you?'

He told her twenty-four.

She said, inconsequently: 'So I was a fool, after all. Well, young man, you will never be as good-looking as your father, but I trust you have an honester nature. However, bygones are bygones. Is the old rascal still living?