Was hers a heart of ice which the warmth of love could not melt?
Did she love another?
Would he ever see her again?
Spain! Ah, but for the Chevalier he might be riding at her side over the Pyrenees.

The pen moved desultorily.

Line after line was written, only to be rejected.

The _envoi_ first took shape.

It is a peculiar habit the poet has of sometimes putting on the cupola before laying the foundation of his house of fancy.