No
thought of Uncle George was in my mind when I entered the
building; and yet, at that very moment, chance was leading me to
the discovery which, for so many years past, I had vainly
endeavored to make--the discovery which I had given up as
hopeless since the day of my mother's death.
I found nothing worth notice in the church, and was about to
leave it again, when I caught a glimpse of a pretty view through
a side door, and stopped to admire it.
The churchyard formed the foreground, and below it the hill-side
sloped away gently into the plain, over which the sun was setting
in full glory. The cure of the church was reading his breviary,
walking up and down a gravel-path that parted the rows of graves.
In the course of my wanderings I had learned to speak French as
fluently as most Englishmen, and when the priest came near me I
said a few words in praise of the view, and complimented him on
the neatness and prettiness of the churchyard. He answered with
great politeness, and we got into conversation together
immediately.
As we strolled along the gravel-walk, my attention was attracted
by one of the graves standing apart from the rest. The cross at
the head of it differed remarkably, in some points of appearance,
from the crosses on the other graves.
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