ul exactitude with which
we carried out the orders of Monsieur Origet. Like all philosophical
physicians, whose sagacious observation of what passes before them
justifies many a doubt of noble actions when they are only the
accomplishment of a duty, this man, while assisting the countess and
me in our rivalry of devotion, could not help watching us, with
scrutinizing glances, so afraid was he of being deceived in his
admiration.

"In diseases of this nature," he said to me at his third visit, "death
has a powerful auxiliary in the moral nature when that is seriously
disturbed, as it is in this case. The doctor, the family, the nurses
hold the patient's life in their hands; sometimes a single word, a fear
expressed by a gesture, has the effect of poison."

As he spoke Origet studied my face and expression; but he saw in my eyes
the clear look of an honest soul. In fact during the whole course of
this distressing illness there never passed through my mind a single one
of the involuntary evil thoughts which do sometimes sear the consciences
of the innocent. To those who study nature in its grandeur as a
whole all tends to unity through assimilation. The moral world must
undoubtedly be ruled by an analogous principle. In an pure sphere all
is pure. The atmosphere of heaven was around my Henriette; it seemed as
though an evil desire must forever part me from her. Thus she not only
stood for happiness, but for virtue; she _was_ virtue. Finding us always
equally careful and attentive, the doctor's words and manners took a
tone of respect and even pity; he seemed to say to himself, "Here
are the real sufferers; they hide their ills, and forget them." By a
fortunate change, which, according to our excellent doctor, is common
enough in men who are completely shattered, Monsieur de Mortsauf
was patient, obedient, complained little, and showed surprising
docility,--he, who when well never did the simplest thing without
discussion. The secret of this submission to medical care, which he
formerly so derided, was an innate dread of death; another contradiction
in a man of tried courage. This dread may perhaps explain several
other peculiarities in the character which the cruel years of exile had
developed.

Shall I admit to you, Natalie, and will you believe me? these fifty days
and the month that followed them were the happiest moments of my life.
Love, in the celestial spaces of the soul is like a noble river flowing
through a v