, at most, to be unhappy, not ungrateful.
I feel it fully; the wife of another dared not love you; and I, in my
sinful affection, was never worthy of your pure heart. I always felt
this, and my weakness was always at war with my inclination. No being
was more wretched than I; and each look from you, each kiss perpetuated
a flame which it ought to have extinguished. In a moment of despair I
wished for a voluntary death rather than the danger of losing my
virtue. Then I procured the poison which I had destined for myself,
because I loved you much too passionately. This is the secret which
shame would have prevented me from confessing upon the rack. Alas!
You, the source of my misfortune--it was you that interrogated me
before the judges.

"You have never loved me, and my separation will never grieve you. I
had deceived myself, and must suffer for the devotion of my
unsuspecting heart. The world pities me, but its pity leaves me
without consolation; and even your compassion, my friend, aggravates my
pain instead of mitigating it.

"Within these cloistered walls I see the end of my short pilgrimage;
the lime-tree before the grated window of my cell throws its shade upon
the little spot that will become my tomb. This is my consolation.

"Ah! how melancholy to stand thus alone in the world! and I am alone,
for no one living loves me. My friends have forgotten me already in
their joyous circles, and my tears do not disturb their merriment. I
fade like the solitary flower of the mountain, unknown and unseen; it
gives and receives no joy; its disappearance leaves no trace behind.

"And you, the only one I loved, receive these lines as a farewell. A
breaking heart breathed these words; a dying hand traced them. I do my
last duty. Do not disturb my peace by answering this. I shall not
receive any letter, and will never see you. I will pray to God for
your happiness; and my last sigh shall be for you; and, with the
remembrance of you, death shall lead me to a better life.

"AMELIA BERTOLLON."

I never saw the noble creature again. Perfectly virtuous, she sank.
But I never forgot her, and often shed tears to her memory.

Madame de Sonnes and Clementine frequently visited me during my
illness, and treated me not like a stranger, but like a brother, or
near relative.

Madame de Sonnes was a noble lady of lively temperament and superior
education. She never seemed to live for herself, but only for others;