e no response to his declaration of love. He
had waited patiently for her answer, but he could endure this state of
cruel uncertainty no longer, and he entreated Mademoiselle de Mirandol
to intercede for him, and to persuade Dolores to make known her decision
to her adorer. Antoinette promised to fulfil his request. She promised,
scarcely knowing what she said, so terrible was the anguish that filled
her heart. She desired only one thing--to make her escape that she might
be at liberty to weep. How wretched he was! Coming to this rendezvous
with a heart full of implicit confidence, she had met, instead of the
felicity she expected, the utter ruin of her hopes. This revulsion of
feeling proved too much for a young girl who was entirely unaccustomed
to violent emotions of any kind. She blamed herself bitterly,
reproaching herself for her love as if it had been a crime, and regarded
her disappointment as a judgment upon her for having allowed herself to
think of Philip so soon, after her father's death.

At last Philip left her, and she could then give vent to her sorrow.
Soon jealously took possession of her heart. Incensed at Dolores, who
had received her confidence without once telling her that Philip's love
had long since been given to her, Antoinette hastened to her rival to
reproach her for her duplicity.

"Antoinette, what has happened?" exclaimed Dolores, seeing her friend
enter pale and in tears.

"I have discovered my mistake. It is not I who am beloved, it is you;
and he has been entreating me to plead his cause and to persuade you to
give him an answer that accords with his wishes! What irony could be
more bitter than that displayed by fate in making me the advocate to
whom Philip has applied for aid in winning you? Ah! how deeply I am
wounded! How terrible is my shame and humiliation! You would have spared
me this degradation if you had frankly told me that Philip loved you
when I first confided my silly fancies to you. Why did you not confess
the truth? It was cruel, Dolores, and I believed you my friend, my
sister!"

Sobs choked her utterance and she could say no more. Dolores, who had
suffered and who was still suffering the most poignant anguish,
nevertheless felt the deepest sympathy for her unhappy friend. She
approached her, gently wiped away her tears and said:

"It is true that Philip loves me, that he quite recently avowed his love
and that I refused to engage myself to him until I had had time