eparated from him, but it would be cruel
ingratitude to forget him, and I shall never do so.'"

"Helene, you are an angel. And you cannot then imagine who are your
parents, or to what you are destined?"

"No; it seems that it is a secret on which all my future happiness
depends; only, Gaston, I fear they are high in station, for it almost
appeared as if our superior spoke to me with deference."

"To you, Helene?"

"Yes."

"So much the better," said Gaston, sighing.

"Do you rejoice at our separation, Gaston?"

"No, Helene; but I rejoice that you should find a family when you are
about to lose a friend."

"Lose a friend, Gaston! I have none but you; whom then should I lose?"

"At least, I must leave you for some time, Helene."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Fate has endeavored to make our lots similar, and that you
are not the only one who does not know what the morrow may bring forth."

"Gaston! Gaston! what does this strange language mean?"

"That I also am subject to a fatality which I must obey--that I also am
governed by an irresistible and superior power."

"You! oh heavens!"

"To a power which may condemn me to leave you in a week--in a
fortnight--in a month; and not only to leave you, but to leave France."

"Ah, Gaston! what do you tell me?"

"What in my love, or rather in my egotism, I have dreaded to tell you
before. I shut my eyes to this hour, and yet I knew that it must come;
this morning they were opened. I must leave you, Helene."

"But why? What have you undertaken? what will become of you?"

"Alas! Helene, we each have our secret," said the chevalier,
sorrowfully; "I pray that yours may be less terrible than mine."

"Gaston!"

"Were you not the first to say that we must part, Helene? Had not you
first the courage to renounce me? Well; blessings on you for that
courage--for I, Helene, had it not."

And at these last words the young man again pressed his lips to her
hand, and Helene could see that tears stood in his eyes.

"Oh, mon Dieu!" murmured she, "how have we deserved this misery?"

At this exclamation Gaston raised his head. "Come," said he, as if to
himself, "courage! It is useless to struggle against these necessities;
let us obey without a murmur, and perhaps our resignation may disarm our
fate. Can I see you again?"

"I fear not--I leave to-morrow."

"And on what road?"

"To Paris."

"Good heavens!" cried Gaston; "and I also."

"You, also, Gaston?"

"Y