onsolation, and
begged her to be calm.

"Alas! I am unhappy," she exclaimed, sobbing, and with vehemence. I
dared not endeavour further to appease the storm of feeling by my
untimely persuasions; and, letting her weep without interruption, I led
her back to her seat, as I felt that she became exhausted and
trembling, her head resting still on my bosom.

"You are not well?" I asked timidly.

"I feel better now," she replied; and, becoming more tranquil, she
looked up, and seeing tears in my eyes, asked, "Why do you weep,
Alamontade?"

"Can I remain unmoved by your sorrows?" I answered, bending down to
her. Silently we sat absorbed in our feelings, hand in hand, gazing at
each other. A tear rolled down her cheek, which I kissed away, and
drew the sufferer closely to my heart, unconscious of what I was doing.
During this embrace our fears evaporated with the glow of our cheeks;
and what we called friendship, was changed into love.

We parted; ten times we bade each other farewell, and as often I
clasped her in my arms, forgetting the separation.

Keeling as if intoxicated, I entered my room; the harp, wreath, and
window, terrified me.

I had never been in a greater state of confusion than I was on the
following morning. I could not understand myself, and wavered between
contradictions. Madame Bertollon appeared to love me; but hitherto she
had heroically struggled with feelings which seemed to wound the
nobility of her mind. I was the wretch who, without loving her, could
encourage her passion, and fan the fatal flame by which she must be
consumed, and I must be dishonoured still more than the unhappy woman
herself.

In vain I called to mind the sacredness of my duties; in vain I
disclosed to myself the base ingratitude I committed against
Bertollon's generous friendship; in vain I remembered my own and
Clementine's vows; all that once had been to her pleasing and estimable
had lost its power and influence. The tumult of my senses continued
without intermission: only Bertollon's lovely wife floated in my
imagination; I still felt on my lip the glow of her kiss, and my
flattered vanity overwhelmed the earnest warnings of my conscience with
illusive sophistry.

"Wretch! you will feel remorse, you will some day blush at your own
disgraceful act, and the snow of advanced age will not quench the
burning of an evil conscience!"

With these words I endeavoured to arouse my better feelings. While I
still re