- end_line
- 14855
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 14833
- text
- The girl gazed at him with a quick and piercing scrutiny; then looked
quite calm, and spoke. "My guitar, Pierre: thou know'st how complete a
mistress I am of it; now, before thou gettest sitters for the
portrait-sketcher, thou shalt get pupils for the music-teacher. Wilt
thou?" and she looked at him with a persuasiveness and touchingness,
which to Pierre, seemed more than mortal.
"My poor poor, Isabel!" cried Pierre; "thou art the mistress of the
natural sweetness of the guitar, not of its invented regulated
artifices; and these are all that the silly pupil will pay for learning.
And what thou hast can not be taught. Ah, thy sweet ignorance is all
transporting to me! my sweet, my sweet!--dear, divine girl!" And
impulsively he caught her in his arms.
While the first fire of his feeling plainly glowed upon him, but ere he
had yet caught her to him, Isabel had backward glided close to the
connecting door; which, at the instant of his embrace, suddenly opened,
as by its own volition.
Before the eyes of seated Lucy, Pierre and Isabel stood locked; Pierre's
lips upon her cheek.
- title
- Chunk 4