Explore "A Provence Rose" by Ouida on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Now, before that summer was gone, these two were betrothed to one another, and my little fair dead daughter, all faded and scentless though her half-opened leaves were, remained always on René's heart as a tender and treasured relic.
They were betrothed, I say -- not wedded, for they were so terribly poor.