Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 377: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

364 PICKWICK ABPOAD a Rose never cau be your’ 's—persist in your foolish love, and I abaudon'l - you—and then you will be as far advanced as hae Accept my propositions, and [ am ready this moment to fulfil my engagement— _ a situation of five thousand francs ayear, and double that sum in advance.” This profuse offer, with the severe condition attending it, struck — Eugene as somewhat extraordinary; and he hesitated ere “he replied, i uncertain what to think; for he knew enough of the world to be well aware that such instances of extr aordinary cenerosity were rare. ‘‘ Are you decided?” enquired the stranger, after a long pause. “Tam,” returned Eugene, ; “To accept—” ‘‘'To refuse your Offers,” said Archambault, firmly. ‘““Reflect—you will be sorry when it is too late,” persisted the Stranger. “Thank you, Sir,—a thousand thanks: £ love Jose /’’ returned Eugene: ‘‘ that is my answer.” The stranger urged his proposition no farther, but withdrew in sorrow and in anger. Eugene had but little time to make his remarks upon this singular visit, and upon the extensive temptations so arduously held out, and SO sedulously rejected, ere he was obliged to hurry to the cathedral of Notre Dame. As he passed by the Morgue, curiosity impelled him to enter; for many, with anxious faces, were running in and out. A disfigured corpse was stretched upon one of the benches, and a shud- dering crowd was surveying it. Never had the idea of death been fraught with such terror to the mind of Archambault as at that mo- ment. He turned away in disgust from the shocking spectacle, and never stopped till he stood beneath the right-hand entrance to the mighty fabric of Notre Dame. He entered—the service had already commenced—the Archbishop of Paris, in his purple robes, officiated upon the occasion—and as Eugen walked towards the choir, where the altar-piece stands, he lool ked anxiously around for his beloved Rose. ! She was there—her servant knelt beside her—and they both prayed _ fervently. And the eyes of Nose were raised to heaven—and her — hands were clasped firmly together—and her lips moved as she mur- mured the prayers that as ended as holy 1 incense to the throne of eter- nal grace, Archambault drew nigh to her—but he dared not intrude with a whisper a such an attitude of unfeigned devotion. ‘There was religion without hy pocrisy —virtue without ostentation! Rose ‘shortly relinquished her suppliant posture, and noticed the vicinity of her lover. She recognised him with a bland but melan- choly smile, which seemed to say, ‘“‘I was praying for us both—for, God knows! we have need of prayer to solicit the consolation of the Highest !’’ When the service was concluded, the lovers met at the door of the cathedral, and immediately commenced a hurried conversation ; for each bad much to say, and both knew how little time they had for social discourse. ‘Is it true, dear Rose, that your sire will saeapiae you to another 2” asked Eugene. ** Too true,” returned the lovely girl; “and he, whom they would ey Eomichooks.co mM