first step was taken on my part when I realised that I was ignorant
and savage, and I applied to the Abbe Aubert, the chaplain, whose
offices I had hitherto despised, to instruct me. I learnt quickly, and
soon vanity at my rapid progress became the bane of my life.

With Edmee I was so passionately in love that jealousy would awaken the
old brutality that I thought dead, and I would gladly have killed de la
Marche in a duel. Then after an outburst remorse would overtake me.

My cousin at last told me plainly that while she would be true to her
word, and not marry anyone before me, she would not marry me, and that
on her father's death a convent should be her refuge. I knew my
boorishness was responsible for this, and resolved to leave her.

Lafayette was taking out volunteers to help the United States in their
war of independence. I told him I would go with him, and crossed hastily
into Spain, whence he was going to sail to America.

I left a note to my uncle, and wrote to Edmee that, as far as I was
concerned, she was free, and that, while I would not thwart a wish of
hers, it was impossible for me to witness a rival's triumph.

Before we sailed came the following reply from Edmee:

"You have done well, Bernard. Go where honour and love of truth call
you. Return when your mission is accomplished; you will find me neither
married nor in a convent."

I cannot describe the American war. I stayed till peace was declared,
and then chafing at my long absence from France, for I was away six
years--and more in love with Edmee than ever, at last set sail and in
due time landed at Brest.

I had not sent any letter to announce my coming, and when I reached the
Chateau of Sainte-Severe I almost feared to cross the threshold. Then I
rushed forward and entered the drawing room. The chevalier was asleep
and did not wake. Edmee, bending over her tapestry, did not hear my
steps.

For a few seconds I stood looking at her, then I fell at her feet
without being able to say a word. She uttered no cry, no exclamation of
surprise, but took my head in her two arms, and held it for sometime
pressed to her bosom. The good chevalier, who had waked with a start,
stared at us in astonishment; then he said:

"Well, well! what is the meaning of this?"

He could not see my face, hidden as it was in Edmee's breast. She pushed
me towards him, and the old man clasped me in his feeble arms with a
burst of generous affection.

Never shall I