by Philip,
and that she loved him in return, but, being unwilling to place any
obstacle in the way of the plans long since formed with a view to the
restoration of the glory of the house of Chamondrin, she had renounced
her hopes and yielded her place and her rights to Antoinette. The
Marquis had not the courage to refuse the proffered sacrifice, though he
fully realized the extent of it. His dearest wishes were about to be
realized. While he lamented the fate to which Dolores had condemned
herself, he was grateful for a decision that spared him the
unpleasantness of a contest with his son, and which insured that son's
marriage to a rich heiress. Still, when Dolores told him that she had
decided to leave Chamondrin not to return until after Philip's marriage,
he refused at first to consent to a separation.

"But it is necessary," replied Dolores. "So long as Philip sees me here,
he will not relinquish his hopes. I am certain that he will not consent
to renounce me unless he believes there is an impassable barrier between
us, unless he believes me dead to the world and to love. Besides, you
would surely not require me to live near one whom I wish to forget. I
shall spend two years in a convent, and then I will return to you."

M. de Chamondrin, touched by this heroism whose grandeur Dolores, in her
simplicity, did not seem to comprehend, pressed her to his heart in a
long embrace, covering her face with kisses and murmuring words of
tenderness and gratitude in her ears. When they separated, he was not
the least moved of the two. Dolores next went in search of Philip. She
found him at the Buissieres, the same place where he had entreated
Antoinette to intercede for him a few hours before.

He saw her approaching.

"She is coming to pronounce my sentence," he thought.

She was very calm. The sadness imprinted on her face did not mar its
serenity.

"Antoinette has spoken to me," she said, firmly, but quietly. "The fear
of making you unhappy has until now deterred me from giving you the
answer for which you have been waiting; but after the events of this
morning, I must speak frankly."

This introduction left Philip no longer in doubt. He uttered a groan, as
with bowed head he awaited the remainder of his sentence.

"Courage, Philip," Dolores continued: "Do not add to my sorrow by making
me a witness of yours. Since the day you opened your heart that I might
read there the feelings that burdened it, I have been care