Free Valentine by George Sand Page B

all her waking hours trying to find a way to see her. Just as Valentine softly ascended the stairs and raised the trap-door which gave access to her chamber, Louise fancied that she saw among the reeds along the Indre her Valentine of four years of age, running after the long blue dragon-flies which skim the water with the tips of their wings. Suddenly the child fell into the river. Louise rushed to rescue her; but Madame de Raimbault, the haughty countess, her stepmother, her implacable foe, appeared before her, pushed her away, and let the child die.
    â€œSister!” cried Louise, in a choking voice, struggling with the visions of her troubled slumber.
    â€œSister!” replied a strange voice, as sweet as that of the angels whose singing we hear in our dreams.
    Louise, raising herself on her bolster, lost the silk handkerchief which held her long brown hair in place.In that dishevelled condition, pale, startled, her face lighted by a moonbeam which stole furtively through the chinks in the curtain, she leaned toward the voice that called her. Two arms are thrown about her, two fresh, warm lips cover her cheeks with holy kisses; Louise, speechless with emotion, feels a shower of tears on her face; Valentine, almost fainting, drops exhausted on her sister’s bed. When Louise realized that she was no longer dreaming, that Valentine was in her arms, that she had come to her, that her heart was as full of affection and gladness as her own, she was unable to express what she felt otherwise than by embraces and sobs. At last, when they were able to speak, Louise cried: “Is it really you, you of whom I have dreamed so many years ?”
    â€œIs it really you,” cried Valentine, “and do you still love me ?”
    â€œWhy this
you?”
* said Louise; “aren’t we sisters ?”
    â€œOh! but you are my mother too!” Valentine replied. “I have forgotten nothing, you see! You are still present in my memory, as if it were yesterday; I should have known you among a thousand. Oh ! yes, it is you, it is really you ! This is your beautiful brown hair, which I can still see arranged in bands over your forehead; these are your dainty little white hands, and your pale complexion. You are just as I saw you in my dreams.”
    â€œOh! Valentine, my own Valentine! Do put the curtain aside that I can see you too. They told me that you were beautiful, but you are a hundred times more so than words can express. You are still fair, still spotless ; the same sweet blue eyes, the same caressing smile ! I brought you up, Valentine, do you remember ? It was I who preserved your skin from sunburn and freckles; it was I who took care of your hair and arranged it every day in golden curls. You owe it to me that you are still so lovely, Valentine, for your mother paid little attention to you ; I alone watched over you every moment.”
    â€œOh! I know it! I know it! I can still remember the songs with which you used to sing me to sleep. I remember that I always found your face leaning over mine when I woke. Oh ! how I cried for you, Louise ! how long it was before I was able to do without you ! how I spurned the help of other women ! My mother has never forgiven me for the species of hatred of her which I exhibited at that time, because my poor nurse had said to me: ‘Your sister is going away; your mother has turned her out of the house.’—Oh ! Louise ! Louise ! you are restored to me at last!”
    â€œAnd we will never part again, will we ?” cried Louise ; “we will find a way to meet often, to write to each other. You won’t allow yourself to be frightened by threats; we will not become strangers again ?”
    â€œHave we ever been strangers ?” was the reply ; “ is it in anyone’s power to make us strangers ? You know me very little, Louise, if you think that it is possible to banish you from my heart, when it was impossible to do it even in my helpless