"Yes," I replied, "for I would give eternity for a day of happiness,

and you--"
"I!" she said haughtily.

I was silent and lowered my eyes to escape the lightning of hers.
"There is many an I in me," she said. "Of which do you speak? Those

children," pointing to Jacques and Madeleine, "are one--Felix," she
cried in a heartrending voice, "do you think me selfish? Ought I to

sacrifice eternity to reward him who devotes to me his life? The
thought is dreadful; it wounds every sentiment of religion. Could a

woman so fallen rise again? Would her happiness absolve her? These are
questions you force me to consider.--Yes, I betray at last the secret

of my conscience; the thought has traversed my heart; often do I
expiate it by penance; it caused the tears you asked me to account for

yesterday--"
"Do you not give too great importance to certain things which common

women hold at a high price, and--"
"Oh!" she said, interrupting me; "do you hold them at a lower?"

This logic stopped all argument.
"Know this," she continued. "I might have the baseness to abandon that

poor old man whose life I am; but, my friend, those other feeble
creatures there before us, Madeleine and Jacques, would remain with

their father. Do you think, I ask you do you think they would be alive
in three months under the insanedominion of that man? If my failure

of duty concerned only myself--" A noble smile crossed her face. "But
shall I kill my children! My God!" she exclaimed. "Why speak of these

things? Marry, and let me die!"
She said the words in a tone so bitter, so hollow, that they stifled

the remonstrances of my passion.
"You uttered cries that day beneath the walnut-tree; I have uttered my

cries here beneath these alders, that is all," I said; "I will be
silent henceforth."

"Your generosity shames me," she said, raising her eyes to heaven.
We reached the terrace and found the count sitting in a chair, in the

sun. The sight of that sunken face, scarcely brightened by a feeble
smile, extinguished the last flames that came from the ashes. I leaned

against the balustrade and considered the picture of that poor wreck,
between his sickly children and his wife, pale with her vigils, worn

out by extremefatigue, by the fears, perhaps also by the joys of
these terrible months, but whose cheeks now glowed from the emotions

she had just passed through. At the sight of that suffering family
beneath the trembling leafage through which the gray light of a cloudy

autumn sky came dimly, I felt within me a rupture of the bonds which
hold the body to the spirit. There came upon me then that moral spleen

which, they say, the strongest wrestlers know in the crisis of their
combats, a species of cold madness which makes a coward of the bravest

man, a bigot of an unbeliever, and renders those it grasps indifferent
to all things, even to vital sentiments, to honor, to love--for the

doubt it brings takes from us the knowledge of ourselves and disgusts
us with life itself. Poor, nervous creatures, whom the very richness

of your organization delivers over to this mysterious, fatal power,
who are your peers and who your judges? Horrified by the thoughts that

rose within me, and demanding, like the wicked man, "Where is now thy
God?" I could not restrain the tears that rolled down my cheeks.

"What is it, dear Felix?" said Madeleine in her childish voice.
Then Henriette put to flight these dark horrors of the mind by a look

of tender solicitude which shone into my soul like a sunbeam. Just
then the old huntsman brought me a letter from Tours, at sight of

which I made a sudden cry of surprise, which made Madame de Mortsauf
tremble. I saw the king's signet and knew it contained my recall. I

gave her the letter and she read it at a glance.
"What will become of me?" she murmured, beholding her desert sunless.

We fell into a stupor of thought which oppressed us equally; never had
we felt more strongly how necessary we were to one another. The

countess, even when she spoke indifferently of other things, seemed to
have a new voice, as if the instrument had lost some chords and others

were out of tune. Her movements were apathetic, her eyes without
light. I begged her to tell me her thoughts.

"Have I any?" she replied in a dazed way.
She drew me into her chamber, made me sit upon the sofa, took a

package from the drawer of her dressing-table, and knelt before me,
saying: "This hair has fallen from my head during the last year; take

it, it is yours; you will some day know how and why."
Slowly I bent to meet her brow, and she did not avoid my lips. I

kissed her sacredly, without unworthypassion, without one impure
impulse, but solemnly, with tenderness. Was she willing to make the

sacrifice; or did she merely come, as I did once, to the verge of the
precipice? If love were leading her to give herself could she have

worn that calm, that holy look; would she have asked, in that pure
voice of hers, "You are not angry with me, are you?"

I left that evening; she wished to accompany me on the road to
Frapesle; and we stopped under my walnut-tree. I showed it to her, and

told her how I had first seen her four years earlier from that spot.
"The valley was so beautiful then!" I cried.

"And now?" she said quickly.
"You are beneath my tree, and the valley is ours!"

She bowed her head and that was our farewell; she got into her
carriage with Madeleine, and I into mine alone.

On my return to Paris I was absorbed in pressing business which took
all my time and kept me out of society, which for a while forgot me. I

corresponded with Madame de Mortsauf, and sent her my journal once a
week. She answered twice a month. It was a life of solitude yet

teeming, like those sequestered spots, blooming unknown, which I had
sometimes found in the depths of woods when gathering the flowers for

my poems.
Oh, you who love! take these obligations on you; accept these daily

duties, like those the Church imposes upon Christians. The rigorous
observances of the Roman faith contain a great idea; they plough the

furrow of duty in the soul by the daily repetition of acts which keep
alive the sense of hope and fear. Sentiments flow clearer in furrowed

channels which purify their stream; they refresh the heart, they
fertilize the life from the abundant treasures of a hidden faith, the

source divine in which the single thought of a single love is
multiplied indefinitely.

My love, an echo of the Middle Ages and of chivalry, was known, I know
not how; possibly the king and the Duc de Lenoncourt had spoken of it.

From that upper sphere the romantic yet simple story of a young man
piously adoring a beautiful woman remote from the world, noble in her

solitude, faithful without support to duty, spread, no doubt quickly,
through the faubourg St. Germain. In the salons I was the object of

embarrassing notice; for retired life has advantages which if once
experienced make the burden of a constant social intercourse

insupportable. Certain minds are painfullyaffected by violent
contrasts, just as eyes accustomed to soft colors are hurt by glaring

light. This was my condition then; you may be surprised at it now, but
have patience; the inconsistencies of the Vandenesse of to-day will be

explained to you.
I found society courteous and women most kind. After the marriage of

the Duc de Berry the court resumed its former splendor and the glory
of the French fetes revived. The Allied occupation was over,

prosperity reappeared, enjoyments were again possible. Noted
personages, illustrious by rank, prominent by fortune, came from all

parts of Europe to the capital of the intellect, where the merits and
the vices of other countries were found magnified and whetted by the

charms of French intellect.
Five months after leaving Clochegourde my good angel wrote me, in the

middle of the winter, a despairing letter, telling me of the serious
illness of her son. He was then out of danger, but there were many

fears for the future; the doctor said that precautions were necessary
for his lungs--the suggestion of a terrible idea which had put the

mother's heart in mourning. Hardly had Jacques begun to convalesce,
and she could breathe again, when Madeleine made them all uneasy. That

pretty plant, whose bloom had latelyrewarded the mother's culture,
was now frail and pallid and anemic. The countess, worn-out by

Jacques' long illness, found no courage, she said, to bear this
additional blow, and the ever present spectacle of these two dear

failing creatures made her insensible to the redoubled torment of her
husband's temper. Thus the storms were again raging; tearing up by the

roots the hopes that were planted deepest in her bosom. She was now at
the mercy of the count; weary of the struggle, she allowed him to

regain all the ground he had lost.
"When all my strength is employed in caring for my children," she

wrote, "how is it possible to employ it against Monsieur de Mortsauf;
how can I struggle against his aggressions when I am fighting against