ut being
able to forget?"

"I love without a wish to forget; without a wish ever to love any one
else," replied La Valliere.

"Very well," said Raoul. "You have said to me, in fact, all you had to
say; all I could possibly wish to know. And now, mademoiselle, it is I
who ask your forgiveness, for it is I who have almost been an obstacle
in your life; I, too, who have been wrong, for, in deceiving myself, I
helped to deceive you."

"Oh!" said La Valliere, "I do not ask you so much as that, Raoul."

"I only am to blame, mademoiselle," continued Raoul, "better informed
than yourself of the difficulties of this life, I should have
enlightened you. I ought not to have relied upon uncertainty; I ought to
have extracted an answer from your heart, whilst I hardly even sought an
acknowledgement from your lips. Once more, mademoiselle, it is I who ask
your forgiveness."

"Impossible, impossible!" she cried, "you are mocking me."

"How, impossible?"

"Yes, it is impossible to be so good, and kind, ah! perfect to such a
degree as that."

"Take care!" said Raoul, with a bitter smile, "for presently you may say
perhaps I did not love you."

"Oh! you love me like an affectionate brother; let me hope that, Raoul."

"As a brother! undeceive yourself, Louise. I love you as a lover--as a
husband, with the deepest, the truest, the fondest affection."

"Raoul, Raoul!"

"As a brother! Oh, Louise! I love you so deeply, that I would have
shed my blood for you, drop by drop; I would, oh! how willingly, have
suffered myself to be torn to pieces for your sake, have sacrificed my
very future for you. I love you so deeply, Louise, that my heart feels
dead and crushed within me,--my faith in human nature all is gone,--my
eyes have lost their light; I loved you so deeply, that I now no longer
see, think of, care for, anything, either in this world or the next."

"Raoul--dear Raoul! spare me, I implore you!" cried La Valliere. "Oh! if
I had but known--"

"It is too late, Louise; you love, you are happy in your affection;
I read your happiness through your tears--behind the tears which the
loyalty of your nature makes you shed; I feel the sighs your affection
breathes forth. Louise, Louise, you have made me the most abjectly
wretched man living; leave me, I entreat you. Adieu! adieu!"

"Forgive me! oh, forgive me, Raoul, for what I have done."

"Have I not done much, much more? _Have I not told you that I love you
still?_" She buri