I cannot doubt any thing that is good of you, said he.
You forget you have left Paris, said La Motte to his son, while a faint smile crossed his face; such a compliment would there be in character with the place--in these solitary woods it is quite _outre_.
The language of admiration is not always that of compliment, Sir, said Louis. Adeline, willing to change the discourse, asked to what part of France he was going. He replied that his regiment was now at Peronne, and he should go immediately thither. After some mention of indifferent subjects, the family withdrew for the night to their several chambers.
The approaching departure of her son occupied the thoughts of Madame La Motte, and she appeared at breakfast with eyes swollen with weeping. The pale countenance of Louis seemed to indicate that he had rested no better than his mother. When breakfast was over, Adeline retired for a while, that she might not interrupt by her presence their last conversation. As she walked on the lawn before the abbey, she returned in thought to the occurrence of yesterday evening, and her impatience for the appointed interview increased. She was soon joined by Louis. It was unkind of you to leave us, said he, in the last moments of my stay. Could I hope that you would sometimes remember me when I am far away, I should depart with less sorrow. He then expressed his concern at leaving her: and though he had hitherto armed himself with resolution to forbear a direct avowal of an attachment, which must be fruitless, his heart now yielded to the force of passion, and he told what Adeline every moment feared to hear.
This declaration, said Adeline, endeavouring to overcome the agitation it excited, gives me inexpressible concern.
O, say not so! interrupted Louis, but give me some slender hope to support me in the miseries of absence. Say that you do not hate me--Say--
That I do most readily say, replied Adeline in a tremulous voice; if it will give you pleasure to be assured of my esteem and friendship--receive this assurance:--as the son of my best benefactors, you are entitled to----
Name not benefits, said Louis, your merits outrun them all: and suffer me to hope for a sentiment less cool than that of friendship, as well as to believe that I do not owe your approbation of me to the actions of others. I have long borne my passion in silence, because I foresaw the difficulties that would attend it; nay, I have even dared to endeavour to overcome it: I have dared to believe it possible--forgive the supposition, that I could forget you--and----