Silvere called her a "big baby," but she could not
restrain her tears. She had received a stab in the heart, she said; she
would soon die, and that stone was meant for her. The young man himself
felt alarmed. However, he succeeded in shaming the child out of these
thoughts. What! she so courageous, to dream about such trifles! They
ended by laughing. Then they avoided speaking of it again. But in
melancholy moments, when the cloudy sky saddened the pathway, Miette
could not help thinking of that dead one, that unknown Marie, whose
tomb had so long facilitated their meetings. The poor girl's bones were
perhaps still lying there. And at this thought Miette one evening had a
strange whim, and asked Silvere to turn the stone over to see what might
be under it. He refused, as though it were sacrilege, and his refusal
strengthened Miette's fancies with regard to the dear phantom which bore
her name. She positively insisted that the girl had died young, as
she was, and in the very midst of her love. She even began to pity the
stone, that stone which she climbed so nimbly, and on which they had
sat so often, a stone which death had chilled, and which their love had
warmed again.
"You'll see, this tombstone will bring us misfortune," she added. "If
you were to die, I should come and lie here, and then I should like to
have this stone set over my body."
At this, Silvere, choking with emotion, scolded her for thinking of such
mournful things.
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