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THE PROSCRIBED. 



No. 3. 



Translated from the French of M. de Balzack, by Miss Margaret Patrickson. 



Godfrey, struck with respect, regarded by turns the elderly 

 stranger and the doctor Sigier, who were conversing together in a 

 low voice. 



— " Glory to the master !" said the stranger. 



— " What is a passing glory V replied Sigier. 



— " I should wish to eternalize my gratitude," said the other. 



— " Well then, one line from you," resumed the doctor, " would 

 doubtless be precious to me in the future, it would be to bestow upon 

 me human immortality.'' 



— " Ah! can one give that which one has not?'' cried the unknown. 

 Accompanied by the crowd which, like courtiers around their kings, 

 pressed upon their steps, still leaving between them and these three 

 personages a respectful distance, Godfrey, the aged stranger, and 

 Sigier proceeded towards the miry shore, on which no houses had 

 then been erected, and where the ferryman awaited them. The 

 doctor and the stranger convei"sed neither in Latin nor Gallic; they 

 discoursed gravely in an unknown language. Their hands were 

 directed by turns towards the heavens and towards the earth. More 

 than once Sigier, to whom the turns of the river were familiar, 

 guided with particular care the old man towards the narrow planks 

 thrown, to serve as bridges, upon the mud. The assemblage watched 

 them with curiosity, and several scholars envied the privilege of the 

 youth who was following those two masters of eloquence. At length 

 the doctor saluted the stranger, and saw the ferryman push off his 

 light and slender bark. 



At the instant when the boat floated gently in the midst of the 

 broad expanse of the Seine, imparting its quivering agitations to the 

 soul, the moon, which was rising red and radiant, like to a conflagra- 

 tion lighted at the horizon, cast its rays through the crevices of some 

 light clouds, shed over the fields torrents of light, coloured with its 

 red tones and its brown reflexes the slated roofs and humbler thatch, 

 bordered with flame the towei-s of Philip Augustus, decked the 

 houses with a coating of gold, inundated the heavens, tinged 

 the waters, rendered the grass and the herbs resplendent, and 

 awakened the half-sleeping insects. This long sheaf of light em- 

 braced the clouds. It was as the first verse of its hymn. Every 

 heart must have thrilled, for nature was then sublime. After con- 



