His Love Story by Marie Van Vorst

Sabron longed for a change with autumn, when the falling leaves made / the roads golden roundabout the Château d'Esclignac. He thought he / would like to go away. He rode his horse one day up to the property / of the hard-hearted unforgiving lady and, finding the gate open, rode / through the grounds up to the terrace. Seeing no one, he sat in his / saddle looking over the golden country to the Rhone and the castle of / the good King René, where the autumn mists were like banners floating / from the towers.

There was a solitary beauty around the lovely place that spoke to the / young officer with a sweet melancholy. He fancied that Miss Redmond / must often have looked out from one of the windows, and he wondered / which one. The terrace was deserted and leaves from the vines / strewed it with red and golden specters. Pitchouné raced after them, / for the wind started them flying, and he rolled his tawny little body / over and over in the rustling leaves. Then a rabbit, which before / the arrival of Sabron had been sitting comfortably on the terrace / stones, scuttled away like mad, and Pitchouné, somewhat hindered by / his limp, tore after it.