en, without another word, he left them.

Dolores looked at Antoinette. She was very pale, and she trembled
violently. Dolores led her gently back to the cell which they occupied
in common. When Antoinette found herself again alone with her friend she
made no attempt to restrain her tears.

"He did not even answer me," she sobbed. "My arrival seemed to cause him
sorrow rather than joy."

"It is because he loves you and it makes him wretched to see you
threatened by the same dangers that surround us," replied Dolores,
striving to console her.

"Does he love me? I am quite sure, had I been in his place, that I
should have awaited his coming with impatience and greeted him with joy.
I should have seen in it only a proof of love, and I should have
forgotten the dangers he had incurred in the rapture of meeting. When
two persons love, there is no sorrow so great as to be separated by
death. The one who survives can but be wretched for the rest of his
life; and the kindest and most generous wish the departing soul can
frame is that the loved one left behind, may soon follow."

Dolores made no reply. She understood the deep despondency which had
taken possession of Antoinette's mind. Her own sorrow was no less
poignant, but it was mitigated by a feeling of serenity and resignation,
which was constantly gaining strength now that what has just passed had
convinced her of the necessity of her sacrifice; and, from that moment,
there reigned in the heart of Dolores, a boundless self-abnegation, a
constant desire to insure the happiness of her friend by the surrender
of her own. The remainder of the day passed uneventfully. Dolores and
Antoinette made only one more visit to the hall below, and then Philip
avoided them.

"He is suffering," said Antoinette. "What troubles him?"

She could learn this only by learning, at the same time, that Philip was
not only indifferent to her, but that his love was given to Dolores. The
latter, faithful to her vow, carefully concealed Philip's secret from
her friend. That evening, before they retired, the two girls talked long
and sadly of the past. They lived over again the happy hours they had
spent together; and when, overcome with weariness, sleep at last
overtook them, they fancied themselves once more in the Chateau de
Chamondrin. Dolores was listening to the Marquis, as he divulged the
hopes he had centred on Philip, and planned a noble and wealthy alliance
which would restore the glor