ance which forgave but never praised. There were times when he
would sit for many minutes and not speak at all; and when dusk or duty
brought separation, he would leave with words like these, "Il est doux,
le repos! Il est precieux le calme bonheur!"

One evening, not ten short days since, he joined me whilst walking in
my alley. He took my hand. I looked up in his face. I thought he meant
to arrest my attention.

"Bonne petite amie!" said he, softly; "douce consolatrice!" But through
his touch, and with his words, a new feeling and a strange thought
found a course. Could it be that he was becoming more than friend or
brother? Did his look speak a kindness beyond fraternity or amity?

His eloquent look had more to say, his hand drew me forward, his
interpreting lips stirred. No. Not now. Here into the twilight alley
broke an interruption: it came dual and ominous: we faced two bodeful
forms--a woman's and a priest's--Madame Beck and Pere Silas.

The aspect of the latter I shall never forget. On the first impulse it
expressed a Jean-Jacques sensibility, stirred by the signs of affection
just surprised; then, immediately, darkened over it the jaundice of
ecclesiastical jealousy. He spoke to _me_ with unction. He looked on
his pupil with sternness. As to Madame Beck, she, of course, saw
nothing--nothing; though her kinsman retained in her presence the hand
of the heretic foreigner, not suffering withdrawal, but clasping it
close and fast.

Following these incidents, that sudden announcement of departure had
struck me at first as incredible. Indeed, it was only frequent
repetition, and the credence of the hundred and fifty minds round me,
which forced on me its full acceptance. As to that week of suspense,
with its blank, yet burning days, which brought from him no word of
explanation--I remember, but I cannot describe its passage.

The last day broke. Now would he visit us. Now he would come and speak
his farewell, or he would vanish mute, and be seen by us nevermore.

This alternative seemed to be present in the mind of not a living
creature in that school. All rose at the usual hour; all breakfasted as
usual; all, without reference to, or apparent thought of their late
Professor, betook themselves with wonted phlegm to their ordinary
duties.

So oblivious was the house, so tame, so trained its proceedings, so
inexpectant its aspect--I scarce knew how to breathe in an atmosphere
thus stagnant, thus smothering. Wo