bout us. Frail and sublime creature! she prayed for her
love. I raised her in my arms.

"Oh! my only friend," I cried, "oh! my mistress, my mother, and my
sister! Pray also for me that I may be able to love you as you deserve.
Pray that I may have the courage to live; that my heart may be cleansed
in your tears; that it may become a holy offering before God and that we
may share it together."

All was silent about us; above our heads spread the heavens resplendent
with stars.

"Do you remember," I said, "do you remember the first day?"

From that night we never returned to that spot. That rock was an altar
which has retained its purity; it is one of the visions of my life, and
it still passes before my eyes wreathed in spotless white.

CHAPTER IV. BRIGITTE'S LOSS

As I was crossing the public square one evening I saw two men standing
together; one of them said:

"It appears to me that he has ill-treated her."

"It is her fault," replied the other; "why choose such a man? He has
known only public women; she is paying the price of her folly."

I advanced in the darkness to see who was speaking thus, and to hear
more if possible; but they passed on as soon as they spied me.

I found Brigitte much disturbed; her aunt was seriously ill; she had
time for only a few words with me. I did not see her for an entire week;
I knew that she had summoned a physician from Paris; finally she sent
for me.

"My aunt is dead," she said; "I lose the only one left me on earth, I am
now alone in the world, and I am going to leave the country."

"Am I, then, nothing to you?"

"Yes, my friend; you know that I love you, and I often believe that you
love me. But how can I count on you? I am your mistress, alas! but you
are not my lover. It is for you that Shakespeare has written these sad
words: 'Make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very
opal.' And I, Octave," she added, pointing to her mourning costume,
"I am reduced to a single color, and I shall not change it for a long
time."

"Leave the country if you choose; I will either kill myself or I will
follow you. Ah! Brigitte," I continued, throwing myself on my knees
before her, "you thought you were alone when your aunt died! That is the
most cruel punishment you could inflict on me; never have I so keenly
felt the misery of my love for you. You must retract those terrible
words; I deserve them, but they will kill me. Oh, God! can it be true
that I cou