m from human justice, but my devotion could go no
farther. Love, to a woman, means boundless confidence, united to a
need of reverencing, of esteeming, the being to whom she belongs.
I have never conceived of love otherwise than as a fire in which
all noble feelings are purified still more,--a fire which develops
them.

"'I have but one thing else to say: come to me poor, and my love
shall be redoubled. If not, renounce it. Should I see you no more,
I shall know what it means.

"'But I do not wish, understand me, that you should make
restitution because I urge it. Consult your own conscience. An act
of justice such as that ought not to be a sacrifice made to love.
I am your wife and not your mistress, and it is less a question of
pleasing me than of inspiring in my soul a true respect.

"'If I am mistaken, if you have ill-explained your father's
action, if, in short, you still think your right to the property
equitable (oh! how I long to persuade myself that you are
blameless), consider and decide by listening to the voice of your
conscience; act wholly and solely from yourself. A man who loves a
woman sincerely, as you love me, respects the sanctity of her
trust in him too deeply to dishonor himself.

"'I blame myself now for what I have written; a word might have
sufficed, and I have preached to you! Scold me; I wish to be
scolded,--but not much, only a little. Dear, between us two the
power is yours--you alone should perceive your own faults.'"

"Well, uncle?" said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears.

"There's more in the letter; finish it."

"Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover," answered Octave, smiling.

"Yes, right, my boy," said the old man, gently. "I have had many affairs
in my day, but I beg you to believe that I too have loved, 'et ego
in Arcardia.' But I don't understand yet why you give lessons in
mathematics."

"My dear uncle, I am your nephew; isn't that as good as saying that I
had dipped into the capital left me by my father? After I had read
this letter a sort of revolution took place within me. I paid my whole
arrearage of remorse in one day. I cannot describe to you the state I
was in. As I drove in the Bois a voice called to me, 'That horse is not
yours'; when I ate my dinner it was saying, 'You have stolen this food.'
I was ashamed. The fresher my honesty, the more intense it was. I
rushed to Madame Firmiani. Uncle! that day I ha