Litchfield enquirer., 1860-05-10
most gallant of bland smiles upon my face

her, and holding my hat little remove, from my head, as College Professors hol theirs when they pass in between the stu dents to the Commencement Dinner-"i this, possibly, your veil p
 A pair of surprised black eyes answere, me with glance so expressive that my ha cane quite of in my hand, aud ended m, address with most respectful bow.
 "Thank you. it is mine ;" was all the re sl,onse received, and the next moment tn, dark slight figure was floating along as be fore, and Andrew Cranberry stood alon. upon the sidewalk
 But for a moment only. To jeer at my self for stopping and staring, instead of in vestigating further the history of the sur prised black eyes, was the business of . aeeting i:lstant--to follow and proffer cour trous attentions was the inspiration and ac tion of the next
 Fair reader be not alarmed, nor fea that when you chance to drop your veil, yot therefore expose yourself to the insults, o the attentions, of any chance Cranberry not at all. simply followed the invitation of the eyes, i'll following that slight 6gur. floating along the street and if you, Mell, de Beuf, or any other French-mnded mal, dares suppose that those eyes might moi have been the pure orbs Of Rosamund Gray herself, you do foul wrong to maiden, and to the character of all irrcproachable Attor ney-at-Luw.
 No, no. The invitation was entirely in voluntary and unconscious on the part o the lady, but it was of that character which permitted me directly to accept it. Had the Iady--O floating figure, forgive the word ill acknowledgment of my handing the veil, should instantly have hailed al omnibus, or rushed into the Bowcry to take the cars.
 l rapidly gained upon her. reached her side. It was a lonely p"rt of the street and there were no noisy carriage-wheels tc drown the sound of my voice with theil roar. Then, with all the respect of a Cru sader kneeling to the image of his lady up on his shield, said, Madam, may l hope that the little service have rendered you is but the beginning of
 She turned toward me. saw again the surprised black eyes fixed full upon me. You, Melle De Beuf, would have withered Ill that glance, because it was not alone sur. prise but indignation I tco should have trembed aud shrunk away, if had been full of the fairest intentions. Meaning nothing but what the Chcvalier Bayard, without mght have meant, I stood my ground manfnlly, and continued,-
 "I am perfectly aware how singular and prep"tcrous this conduct may seem, but l may never see you again, and--and, and want to kuow you," said l, trusting to Prov idence
 Tt $ singular, sir" said low sweet voice, ito accost lady whom you do not know in this way, and il. the street. You are mistaken, sir. will wait until you re- tire.'
 She stood still, but l could see little in her eyes, as if she were yr'eved that man whose aspect had pleas- Id her knew that mmediately), should disappont her, and prove to be only Melle De BGuf, after all.
 "Madam." said l, 'you do me a great wrong, if you fancy that l have any thought which you would not houor. I have indulg- ed u wh'm ill speaking to you, but do must solemniy assure you, it Was the result of a genuine wish to kuow you" And l pulled uut my card-case, and handed her card, Mir. Andrew Cranberry.
 "Mr. Cranberry" replied the lady, "I am willing to believe what you say; and, looking in your face,'l do believe it. Yet l do not know why you should wish to know mo, whom you have never before seen, and whom you could hardly expect to see again. Propriety, Mir. Cranberry, the usage of the world, &c., &c.," continued she with ! slight smile, would require me to order your ill., >tant departure; but am able to take care of myself, and um confident you mean no 
 So saying, the lady resumed her walk, and l accompanied her. She had that subdued, sweet manner, which implies latent grief a sorrow that has become habit. The quiet self-possrssion revealed character moulded by actual contact with the world, u more beautiful to me than the con ventioual reserve and tmidi,y of the daugl,- ters of my Twentieth Avenue friend Mrs. Parr Venoo. Our conversation fell upon obvious topics, but in all she said there was a maldenly wisdom which was no less new than fascinating. do not very distinctly what We said. It was that gla,l- cing talk by the way, of which the spirit, the tone aud the feeling are so much more than the words. -
 only remember this,, that with every step of the way, went whole leagues into l .ve. She belonged to no 'set' with which 1 was familiar. She knew none of the fash ionable ladies' She had no gossip. The walk with her was like a warm day In winter like summer week iu the country to a tired Pcarl.street Jobber. She knew the poetry of the poets loved. the music of the composers most dear to me. But i'll all she said, and in all I asked, there was no a'Iu sion to her situation in life,-nothing which informed me with whom l was speaking.
 SudtIenly--it was somewhere in the Twen ty-second Ayenue-she paused before the door of a small house in poor block. There was a sign under the front windows Mad anne Begnet de Pomme, Milliner from Par is." She went up the steps leaving nc standing upon the sidewalk.
 "I thank you for very pleasant walk, , said she. as she rang the bell.
 "Is this your home?" inquired I.
 "Yes, for the present" answered she.
 'You are milliner?"
 '1 am Q milliner."
 ''You are not Madame De Pomme."
 "I am not Madame De Pomme,"
 It was evident that she did not choose tt he questioned further Tn that direction, anf I said no more.
 "Will you allow me to come and see yol sometimeSfD asked