you to tell me? You have been crying!"

"Alas, since this morning I have done little else."

"Since this morning," said Gaston, with a sad smile, "that is strange;
if I were not a man, I too should have cried since this morning."

"What do you say, Gaston?"

"Nothing, nothing; tell me, what are your griefs, Helene?"

"Alas! you know I am not my own mistress. I am a poor orphan, brought up
here, having no other world than the convent. I have never seen any one
to whom I can give the names of father or mother--my mother I believe to
be dead, and my father is absent; I depend upon an invisible power,
revealed only to our superior. This morning the good mother sent for me,
and announced, with tears in her eyes, that I was to leave."

"To leave the convent, Helene?"

"Yes; my family reclaims me, Gaston."

"Your family? Alas! what new misfortune awaits us?"

"Yes, it is a misfortune, Gaston. Our good mother at first congratulated
me, as if it were a pleasure; but I was happy here, and wished to remain
till I became your wife. I am otherwise disposed of, but how?"

"And this order to remove you?"

"Admits of neither dispute nor delay. Alas! it seems that I belong to a
powerful family, and that I am the daughter of some great nobleman. When
the good mother told me I must leave, I burst into tears, and fell on my
knees, and said I would not leave her; then, suspecting that I had some
hidden motive, she pressed me, questioned me, and--forgive me, Gaston--I
wanted to confide in some one; I felt the want of pity and consolation,
and I told her all--that we loved each other--all except the manner in
which we meet. I was afraid if I told her that, that she would prevent
my seeing you this last time to say adieu."

"But did you not tell, Helene, what were my plans; that, bound to an
association myself for six months, perhaps for a year, at the end of
that time, the very day I should be free, my name, my fortune, my very
life, was yours?"

"I told her, Gaston; and this is what makes me think I am the daughter
of some powerful nobleman, for then Mother Ursula replied: 'You must
forget the chevalier, my child, for who knows that your new family would
consent to your marrying him?'"

"But do not I belong to one of the oldest families in Brittany? and,
though I am not rich, my fortune is independent. Did you say this,
Helene?"

"Yes; I said to her, 'Gaston chose me, an orphan, without name and
without fortune. I may be s