e," she said, "is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?"

"Alas! Madame," I replied, "there is nothing irrevocable except the
grief that is killing me. My condition can be expressed in a few words:
I can not love her, I can not love another, and I can not cease loving."

At these words she moved uneasily in her chair, and I could see an
expression of compassion on her face.

For some time she appeared to be reflecting, as if pondering over my
fate and seeking some remedy for my sorrow. Her eyes were closed and she
appeared lost in revery. She extended her hand and I took it in mine.

"And I, too," she murmured, "that is just my experience." She stopped,
overcome by emotion.

Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity. I held Madame
Levasseur's hand as she began to speak of my mistress, saying all she
could think of in her favor. My sadness increased. What could I reply?
Finally she came to speak of herself.

Not long since, she said, a man who loved her abandoned her. She had
made great sacrifices for him; her fortune was compromised, as well as
her honor and her name. Her husband, whom she knew to be vindictive, had
made threats. Her tears flowed as she continued, and I began to forget
my own sorrow in my sympathy for her. She had been married against her
will; she struggled a long time; but she regretted nothing except that
she had not been able to inspire a more sincere affection. I believe she
even accused herself because she had not been able to hold her lover's
heart, and because she had been guilty of apparent indifference.

When she had unburdened her heart she became silent.

"Madame," I said, "it was not chance that brought about our meeting in
the Bois de Boulogne. I believe that human sorrows are but wandering
sisters and that some good angel unites the trembling hands that are
stretched out for aid. Do not repent having told me your sorrow. The
secret you have confided to me is only a tear which has fallen from
your eye, but has rested on my heart. Permit me to come again and let us
suffer together."

Such lively sympathy took possession of me that without reflection I
kissed her; it did not occur to my mind that it could offend her, and
she did not appear even to notice it.

Our conversation continued in this tone of expansive friendship. She
told me her sorrows, I told her mine, and between these two experiences
which touched each other, I felt arise a sweetness, a celestial accord
b