"
He had done the same kind of thing a hundred times for her, and,
without further discussion, wrote as follows:--
"L'amour tel qu'une biche bless?e, se trahit lui-m?me par sa crainte,
qui fait remuer le feuillage qui le couvre."
"Bless me, how pretty!" cried she, and immediately put it into her
bosom.
To this unlucky addition of the words _se trahit lui-meme_
Thaddeus was indebted for the present of the folded paper. The ever-
working imagination of Euphemia had seized the inverted thought as a
delicate avowal that he was the wounded deer he had substituted in
place of the wild beast; and as soon is he arrived at home, he found
the fruits of her mistake in the packet she had given with so much
secrecy.
When he broke the seal, something dropped out and fell on the carpet.
He took it up, and blushed for her on finding a gold medallion, with
the words he had altered for Miss Euphemia engraved on blue enamel.
With a vexed haste he next looked at the envelope; it contained a
copy of verses, with this line written at the top:
"To him who will apply them."
On perusing them, he found them to be Mrs. Phillips's beautiful
translation of that ode of Sappho which runs--
"Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The friend who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile!
"'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And rais'd such tumults in my breast:
For while I gazed, in transport tost,
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
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