a stern look, "This concerns you, sir." I read
it with a composed countenance, and, returning it to the marquis, I
observed with a sigh, "There is no kindness in such deception; the blow
will only fall heavier upon the old man when it does come. You are
aware, sir, I mentioned, it to you (or rather, I believe, it was to
Mademoiselle Cerise), that my father is blind, and has been so for the
last two years. They have been afraid to tell him the truth, and have
made him believe that Victor is there. You must know, sir, that it was
clandestinely that my dear brother quitted his father's house to
accompany me. Unhappy hour when I yielded to his intreaties! But,
monsieur le marquis, I perceive that it is now imperative that I should
go to my father; he will need the assurance of my existence to support
him in his grief. I will therefore, with your permission, write a few
lines by the bearer of this communication, and to-morrow morning at
daylight must unwillingly tear myself away from your charming society."

The cool and confident air with which I answered, removed suspicion; and
having written a few lines to the comte, and requested from the marquis
the loan of his seal, I applied the wax, and desired the servant to
deliver it as an answer to the messenger, whom I was not sorry to see
galloping by the window. "Oh," cried I, "'tis Pierre: had I known that,
I should have asked him some questions."

This well-timed exclamation of mine, I perceived, did not fail to have
its weight. We again sat down to table, and I was treated with more
than usual kindness by the marquis and his brother, as if in
compensation for their having, for a moment, harboured a suspicion of my
honesty. But I was ill at ease; and I felt that I never had acted with
more prudence than in proposing my early departure.

In the evening I was alone with Cerise. Since the news of my brother's
death, and the scene that followed, we had sworn unalterable love; and
in that instance only was I sincere. I loved her to desperation, and I
dote on her memory now, though years have rolled away, and she has long
been mingled with the dead. Yes, Cerise, if from the regions of bliss,
where thy pure spirit dwells, thou canst look down upon a wretch so
loaded with guilt as I am, oh, turn not away with horror, but view with
pity one who loved as fondly as man could love, and hereafter will care
little for all that Paradise can offer if thy fair spirit must not b