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IV. An Hour of Bliss and Many Hours of Sadness

           Butwhat’stheuseoftalkingofgorgeousrooms?Bytheway,theLittleTrianonwouldsuitusbeautifullytolivein,andyoumightwalkinthegardensinthemoonlightandthinkyouwereinsomeEnglishshrubbery;itislaidoutinEnglishfashion.”

           “Ishouldhatetothinkthat!”

           “ThenyoucouldkeeptothelawninfrontoftheGrandPalace.Allaboutthereyouwoulddoubtlessfeelinaworldofhistoricalromance.”

           Hewenton,sinceitwasallnewtoher,anddescribedFontainebleau,St.Cloud,theBois,andmanyotherfamiliarhauntsoftheParisians;tillshesaid—

           “Whenusedyoutogototheseplaces?”

           “OnSundays.”

           “Ah,yes.IdislikeEnglishSundays.HowIshouldchimeinwiththeirmannersoverthere!DearClym,you’llgobackagain?”

           Clymshookhishead,andlookedattheeclipse.

           “Ifyou’llgobackagainI’ll—besomething,”shesaidtenderly,puttingherheadnearhisbreast.“Ifyou’llagreeI’llgivemypromise,withoutmakingyouwaitaminutelonger.”

           “Howextraordinarythatyouandmymothershouldbeofonemindaboutthis!”saidYeobright.“Ihavevowednottogoback,Eustacia.ItisnottheplaceIdislike;itistheoccupation.”

           “Butyoucangoinsomeothercapacity.”

           “No.Besides,itwouldinterferewithmyscheme.Don’tpressthat,Eustacia.Willyoumarryme?”

           “Icannottell.”

           “Now—nevermindParis;itisnobetterthanotherspots.Promise,sweet!”

           “Youwillneveradheretoyoureducationplan,Iamquitesure;andthenitwillbeallrightforme;andsoIpromisetobeyoursforeverandever.

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