overwhelm me, I will read these lines written under the
impression of the most cruel grief I can ever feel, and I will say to
myself: 'What is the present woe compared to that past?' My grief is
indeed cruel! it is illegitimate, ridiculous, shameful: I should not
dare to confess it, even to the most indulgent of mothers. Alas!
there are some fearful sorrows, which yet rightly make men shrug their
shoulders in pity or contempt. Alas! these are forbidden misfortunes.
Agricola has asked me to go to-morrow, to see this young girl to whom he
is so passionately attached, and whom he will marry, if the instinct of
my heart should approve the marriage. This thought is the most painful
of all those which have tortured me since he so pitilessly announced
this love. Pitilessly? No, Agricola--no, my brother--forgive me this
unjust cry of pain! Is it that you know, can even suspect, that I love
you better than you love, better than you can ever love, this charming
creature?

"'Dark-haired--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--with blue eyes--as
large as that--and almost as mild as your own.'

"That is the portrait he drew of her. Poor Agricola! how would he have
suffered, had he known that every one of his words was tearing my heart.
Never did I so strongly feel the deep commiseration and tender pity,
inspired by a good, affectionate being, who, in the sincerity of his
ignorance, gives you your death-wound with a smile. We do not blame
him--no--we pity him to the full extent of the grief that he would feel
on learning the pain he had caused me. It is strange! but never did
Agricola appear to me more handsome than this morning. His manly
countenance was slightly agitated, as he spoke of the uneasiness of that
pretty young lady. As I listened to him describing the agony of a woman
who runs the risk of ruin for the man she loves, I felt my heart
beat violently, my hands were burning, a soft languor floated over
me--Ridiculous folly! As if I had any right to feel thus!

"I remember that, while he spoke, I cast a rapid glance at the glass. I
felt proud that I was so well dressed; he had not even remarked it; but
no matter--it seemed to me that my cap became me, that my hair shone
finely, my gaze beamed mild--I found Agricola so handsome, that I almost
began to think myself less ugly--no doubt, to excuse myself in my own
eyes for daring to love him. After all, what happened to-day would have
happened one day or another! Yes, that is c