The  huge  spider  was,  as  usual,  laying  in  wait


LADY-BIRD.  281

in  his  web,  and  the  dying  flies  strewed  about
the  floor;  her  favourite  books  were  in  their
places,  but  she  passed  them  with  an  indifferent
eye,  for  all  her  interest  was  absorbed  by  the
volumes  in  her  hand.  The  name  of  Adiien
d'Ai-berg  was  on  the  title-page,  and  it  was  his
thoughts  that  she  was  going  to  read.  Silently,  he
would  speak  to  her  again,  in  her  sohtude,  and
she  would  learn  to  know  him,  even  without
meeting  him  again.  But  now  tliat  she  knew  his
name,  how  many  recollections  of  what  Maiu'ice
had  related  to  her  about  him  crowded  on  her
memory,  and  how  well  they  suited  with  liis  face,
with  his  voice,  and  with  liis  attitude  !  Even  then
he  was  no  stranger  to  her,  and  what  would  it
be  when  she  should  have  read  through  those
volumes,  into  which  so  much  of  his  soul  and  his
mind  must-have  passed  ?

She  began  to  read ;  the  style  was  entirely  new
to  her.  She  was  not  well  acquainted  with  that
species  of  modern  hterature  to  which  this  book


282  LADY-BIED.
belonged,  tliougli  well  versed  in  the  writings  of
past  times  both  in  French  and  in  English ;  she
had  never  before  met  with  a  work  which  employed
against  vice  and  impiety  all  the  fascinations  of  style,
the  sarcastic  ingenuity,  and  the  impassioned  sensi-
bility tliat  are  so  often  displayed  in  their  service.
