or?"

"They are in our poetical dreams," said Marillac, raising his eyes to
the ceiling with an inspired air.

"Very well! tell us your dreams then, instead of copying a reality which
it is impossible for you to render poetic, since you yourselves see it
without illusions."

Gerfaut smiled bitterly at this suggestion, artlessly uttered by the
Baron.

"My dreams," he replied, "I should tell them to you poorly indeed, for
the first blessing of the awakening is forgetfulness, and to-day I am
awake. However, I remember how I allowed myself to be once overcome by
a dream that has now vanished, but still emits its luminous trail in
my eyes. I thought I had discovered, under a beautiful and attractive
appearance, the richest treasure that the earth can bestow upon the
heart of man; I thought I had discovered a soul, that divine mystery,
deep as the ocean, ardent as a flame, pure as air, glorious as heaven
itself, infinite as space, immortal as eternity! It was another
universe, where I should be king. With what ardent and holy love I
attempted the conquest of this new world, but, less fortunate than
Columbus, I met with shipwreck instead of triumph."

Clemence, at this avowal of her lover's defeat, threw him a glance of
intense contradiction, then lowered her eyes, for she felt her face
suffused with burning blushes.

When he entered his room that night, Gerfaut went straight to the
window. He could see in the darkness the light which gleamed in
Clemence's room.

"She is alone," said he to himself; "certainly heaven protects us, for
in the state of exasperation I am in, I should have killed them both."

CHAPTER XV. DECLARATION OF WAR

Far from rejoicing at this moment in the triumph he had just obtained,
Gerfaut fell into one of those attacks of disenchantment, during which,
urged on by some unknown demon, he unmercifully administered to himself
his own dreaded sarcasm. Being unable to sleep, he arose and opened his
window again, and remained with his elbows resting upon the sill for
some time. The night was calm, numberless stars twinkled in the heavens,
the moon bathed with its silvery light the tops of the trees, through
which a monotonous breeze softly rustled. After gazing at this
melancholy picture of sleeping nature, the poet smiled disdainfully,
and said to himself "This comedy must end. I can not waste my life
thus. Doubtless, glory is a dream as well as love; to pass the night
idiotically gazing at