lly locked; a
moment later, she returned and seated herself again upon the divan.

"Justine is sleeping by this time," said Octave; "I should not have
ventured if I had not seen that her light was out."

Clemence took his hand and placed it over her heart.

"Now," said she, "when I tell you that I am frightened, will you believe
me?"

"Poor dear!" he exclaimed, as he felt her heart throbbing violently.

"You are the one who causes me these palpitations for the slightest
thing. I know that we do not run any danger, that everybody is in his
own room by this time, and yet, somehow, I feel terribly frightened.
There are women, so they say, who get used to this torture, and end by
being guilty and tranquil at the same time. It is an unworthy thought,
but I'll confess that, sometimes, when I suffer so, I wish I were like
them. But it is impossible; I was not made for wrong-doing. You can not
understand this, you are a man; you love boldly, you indulge in every
thought that seems sweet to you without being troubled by remorse. And
then, when you suffer, your anguish at least belongs to you, nobody has
any right to ask you what is the matter. But I, my tears even are not
my own; I have often shed them on your account--I must hide them, for he
has a right to ask: 'Why do you weep?' And what can I reply?"

She turned away her head to conceal the tears which she could not
restrain; he saw them, and, leaning over her, he kissed them away.

"Your tears are mine!" he exclaimed, passionately; "but do not distress
me by telling me that our love makes you unhappy."

"Unhappy! oh, yes! very unhappy! and yet I would not change this sorrow
for the richest joys of others. This unhappiness is my treasure! To be
loved by you! To think that there was a time when our love might have
been legitimate! What fatality weighs upon us, Octave? Why did we
know each other too late? I often dream a beautiful dream--a dream of
freedom."

"You are free if you love me--It is the rain against the windows," said
he, seeing Madame de Bergenheim anxiously listening again. They kept
silent for a moment, but could hear nothing except the monotonous
whistling of the storm.

"To be loved by you and not to blush!" said she, as she gazed at him
lovingly. "To be together always, without fearing that a stroke of
lightning might separate us! to give you my heart and still be worthy to
pray! it would be one of those heavenly delights that one grasps only in
d