“Let me not accelerate it,” said she to herself: “for whatever I may be reserved, let me, at least, avoid self-reproach.”
As she looked on the massy walls of the edifice, her melancholy spirits represented it to be her prison; and she started as at a new suggestion, when she considered how far distant she was from her native country, from her little peaceful home, and from her only friend—how remote was her hope of happiness, how feeble the expectation of again seeing him! Yet the idea of Valancourt, and her confidence in his faithful love, had hitherto been her only solace, and she struggled hard to retain them. A few tears of agony started to her eyes, which she turned aside to conceal.
While she afterwards leaned on the wall of the rampart, some peasants, at a little distance, were se
