that of some rock.

"When I talk of friendship, I mean _true_ friendship," he repeated
emphatically; and I could hardly believe that words so earnest had
blessed my ear; I hardly could credit the reality of that kind, anxious
look he gave. If he _really_ wished for my confidence and regard, and
_really_ would give me his--why, it seemed to me that life could offer
nothing more or better. In that case, I was become strong and rich: in
a moment I was made substantially happy. To ascertain the fact, to fix
and seal it, I asked--

"Is Monsieur quite serious? Does he really think he needs me, and can
take an interest in me as a sister?"

"Surely, surely," said he; "a lonely man like me, who has no sister,
must be but too glad to find in some woman's heart a sister's pure
affection."

"And dare I rely on Monsieur's regard? Dare I speak to him when I am so
inclined?"

"My little sister must make her own experiments," said he; "I will give
no promises. She must tease and try her wayward brother till she has
drilled him into what she wishes. After all, he is no inductile
material in some hands."

While he spoke, the tone of his voice, the light of his now
affectionate eye, gave me such a pleasure as, certainly, I had never
felt. I envied no girl her lover, no bride her bridegroom, no wife her
husband; I was content with this my voluntary, self-offering friend. If
he would but prove reliable, and he _looked_ reliable, what, beyond his
friendship, could I ever covet? But, if all melted like a dream, as
once before had happened--?

"Qu'est-ce donc? What is it?" said he, as this thought threw its weight
on my heart, its shadow on my countenance. I told him; and after a
moment's pause, and a thoughtful smile, he showed me how an equal
fear--lest I should weary of him, a man of moods so difficult and
fitful--had haunted his mind for more than one day, or one month.

On hearing this, a quiet courage cheered me. I ventured a word of
re-assurance. That word was not only tolerated; its repetition was
courted. I grew quite happy--strangely happy--in making him secure,
content, tranquil. Yesterday, I could not have believed that earth
held, or life afforded, moments like the few I was now passing.
Countless times it had been my lot to watch apprehended sorrow close
darkly in; but to see unhoped-for happiness take form, find place, and
grow more real as the seconds sped, was indeed a new experience.

"Lucy," said M. Paul, speakin