ENVOY
Sothe cottage at St. Cloud became a reality, after all, for with M. d’Argenson’s willing help we choked Nanette’s fortune from out her uncle’s hungry maw, nor did he dare make much resistance. More punishment for him we did not seek—we were too happy to think of vengeance.
And here, too, came my sister—our sister, rather—the same sweet, strong, noble girl. The others dwell yet in the southland which they love; but, thank God, they no longer struggle hand to hand with want. We have visited them, Nanette and I, and how I joyed in showing her the places where my youth was spent—the river, the great wood, the little bed-room, whence I peeped out at my uncle’s ruffians! Then back again to our home, here, at St. Cloud.
It is a pleasant place, nestling amid a grove of trees, with a vineyard at the right and the river gleaming in the distance. Sometimes, on summer afternoons, we set our table out of doors and dine with all this beauty close about us.
And sometimes, too, our dearest friend puts the cares of his great office from him and comes alone to spend an hour with us. Need I say with what joy we welcome him? And I trust that in our love he finds some slight recompense for his great kindness to us.
In one corner of the little burial ground of the Théatins there is a grave which Nanette and I visit often. We love to sit beside it and talk over the days of our meeting. And as I tell for the hundredth time the story of my escape from Mère Fouchon, my wife rises with brimming eyes and kisses the little white shaft which bears the single word “Ninon.”
THE END