screed before the dawn
of day; here are, word by word, the contents of the letter which I wrote
to the noblest of women, whom in my unreasonable spite I had judged so
wrongly.

"I plead guilty, madam; I cannot possibly justify myself, and I am
perfectly convinced of your innocence. I should be disconsolate if I did
not hope to obtain pardon, and you will not refuse to forgive me if you
are kind enough to recollect the cause of my guilt. I saw you; I was
dazzled, and I could not realize a happiness which seemed to me a dream;
I thought myself the prey of one of those delightful illusions which
vanish when we wake up. The doubt under which I was labouring could not
be cleared up for twenty-four hours, and how could I express my feverish
impatience as I was longing for that happy moment! It came at last! and
my heart, throbbing with desire and hope, was flying towards you while I
was in the parlour counting the minutes! Yet an hour passed almost
rapidly, and not unnaturally, considering my impatience and the deep
impression I felt at the idea of seeing you. But then, precisely at the
very moment when I believed myself certain that I was going to gaze upon
the beloved features which had been in one interview indelibly engraved
upon my heart, I saw the most disagreeable face appear, and a creature
announced that you were engaged for the whole day, and without giving me
time to utter one word she disappeared! You may imagine my astonishment
and... the rest. The lightning would not have produced upon me a more
rapid, a more terrible effect! If you had sent me a line by that
sister--a line from your hand--I would have gone away, if not pleased, at
least submissive and resigned.

"But that was a fourth fatality which you have forgotten to add to your
delightful and witty justification. Thinking myself scoffed at, my
self-love rebelled, and indignation for the moment silenced love. Shame
overwhelmed me! I thought that everybody could read on my face all the
horror in my heart, and I saw in you, under the outward appearance of an
angel, nothing but a fearful daughter of the Prince of Darkness. My mind
was thoroughly upset, and at the end of eleven days I lost the small
portion of good sense that was left in me--at least I must suppose so, as
it is then that I wrote to you the letter of which you have so good a
right to complain, and which at that time seemed to me a masterpiece of
moderation.

"But I hope it is all over now, a