The lady's name, however, was at last revealed by this
untoward incident; from her name to her address was but a short
step, and the same day our crestfallen hero lay in wait at her door,
and many a succeeding day, without effect. But one fine afternoon
she issued forth quite naturally, as if she did it every day,
and walked briskly on the parade. Dolignan did the same, met and
passed her many times on the parade, and searched for pity in her
eyes, but found neither look nor recognition nor any other sentiment;
for all this she walked and walked till all the other promenaders
were tired and gone; then her culprit summoned resolution, and,
taking off his hat, with a voice for the first time tremulous,
besought permission to address her. She stopped, blushed, and neither
acknowledged nor disowned his acquaintance. He blushed, stammered
out how ashamed he was, how he deserved to be punished, how he
was punished, how little she knew how unhappy he was, and concluded
by begging her not to let all the world know the disgrace of a man
who was already mortified enough by the loss of her acquaintance.
She asked an explanation; he told her of the action that had been
commenced in her name; she gently shrugged her shoulders, and
said, "How stupid they are!" Emboldened by this, he begged to know
whether or not a life of distant unpretending devotion would, after
a lapse of years, erase the memory of his madness--his crime!
She did not know!
She must now bid him adieu, as she had some preparations to make
for a ball in the Crescent, where everybody was to be.
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