276
CHAPTER XXXIV.
"Happiness!
It is the gay to-morrow of the mind,
Which never comes."
Barry Cornwall.
"Now, I am quite sure that our beautiful hostess has been making an assignation," soliloquised Charles, who, for want of something better to do, had been watching the various actions of the group in the principal chamber in the castle, where every window was open to the soft south wind, and the air was vocal with the humming bees, and sweet with the breath of flowers placed in gay profusion on the terrace.
He had noted, with his usual quick glance at a pretty face, Francesca's attendant catch her mistress's eye before she approached, and that, under the pretence of bringing her some music, she had given a note. The maid sustained her part with great readiness—not so the mistress.
Francesca's hand trembled as she broke the
