r. He loves you, and he is good in
heart."

Helene struggled, and her voice sank to a whisper as she heard the
slight noise that Monsieur Rambaud made behind them. He was so patient
and so strong in his hope, that for six months he had not once
intruded his love on her. Disposed by nature to the most heroic
self-sacrifice, he waited in serene confidence. The Abbe stirred, as
though about to turn round.

"Would you like me to tell him everything? He would stretch out his
hand and save you. And you would fill him with joy beyond compare."

She checked him, utterly distracted. Her heart revolted. Both of these
peaceful, affectionate men, whose judgment retained perfect
equilibrium in presence of her feverish passion, were sources of
terror to her. What world could they abide in to be able to set at
naught that which caused her so much agony? The priest, however, waved
his hand with an all-comprehensive gesture.

"My daughter," said he, "look on this lovely night, so supremely still
in presence of your troubled spirit. Why do you refuse happiness?"

All Paris was now illumined. The tiny dancing flames had speckled the
sea of shadows from one end of the horizon to the other, and now, as
in a summer night, millions of fixed stars seemed to be serenely
gleaming there. Not a puff of air, not a quiver of the atmosphere
stirred these lights, to all appearance suspended in space. Paris, now
invisible, had fallen into the depths of an abyss as vast as a
firmament. At times, at the base of the Trocadero, a light--the lamp
of a passing cab or omnibus--would dart across the gloom, sparkling
like a shooting star; and here amidst the radiance of the gas-jets,
from which streamed a yellow haze, a confused jumble of house-fronts
and clustering trees--green like the trees in stage scenery--could be
vaguely discerned. To and fro, across the Pont des Invalides, gleaming
lights flashed without ceasing; far below, across a band of denser
gloom, appeared a marvellous train of comet-like coruscations, from
whose lustrous tails fell a rain of gold. These were the reflections
in the Seine's black waters of the lamps on the bridge. From this
point, however, the unknown began. The long curve of the river was
merely described by a double line of lights, which ever and anon were
coupled to other transverse lines, so that the whole looked like some
glittering ladder, thrown across Paris, with its ends on the verge of
the heavens among the stars.