Allowing for the dreadful deaf monotony in his voice,
no man could have been more innocently joyous and agreeable. While he was
taking his morning draught, I appealed to Cristel's better sense.
"Is this the hypocrite, who is deceiving me for his own wicked ends?" I
asked. "Does he look like the jealous monster who is plotting my
destruction, and who will succeed if I am fool enough to accept his
invitation?"
Poor dear, she was as obstinate as ever! "Think over what I have said to
you--think, for your own sake," was her only reply.
"And a little for _your_ sake?" I ventured to add.
She ran away from me, taking the path which would lead her home again.
The deaf man and I were left together. He looked after her until she was
out of sight. Then he produced his book of blank leaves. But, instead of
handing it to me as usual, he began to write in it himself.
"I have something to say to you," he explained.
It was only possible, while the book was in his possession, to remind him
that I could hear, and that he could speak, by using the language of
signs. I touched my lips, and pointed to him; I touched my ear, and
pointed to myself.
"Yes," he said, understanding me with his customary quickness; "but I
want you to remember as well as to hear. When I have filled this leaf, I
shall beg you to keep it about you, and to refer to it from time to
time."
He wrote on steadily, until he had filled both sides of the slip of
paper.
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