month, but forever.

But one word, one little word, opposed itself to all this. That word was
honor. He had given his oath, and he would be disgraced if he did not
keep it.

The last evening Helene expected that Gaston would speak, but in vain,
and she retired to rest with the conviction that Gaston did not love her
as she loved him.

That night Gaston never slept, and he rose pale and despairing. They
breakfasted at a little village. The nun thought that in the evening she
would begin her homeward journey toward her beloved convent. Helene
thought that it was now too late to act, even if Gaston should speak.
Gaston thought that he was about to lose forever the woman whom he
loved.

About three o'clock in the afternoon they all alighted to walk up a
steep hill, from the summit of which they could see before them a
steeple and a number of houses. It was Rambouillet; they did not know
it, but they felt that it was.

Gaston was the first to break the silence. "There," said he, "our paths
separate. Helene, I implore you preserve the recollection of me, and,
whatever happens, do not condemn or curse me."

"Gaston, you only speak of the most terrible things. I need courage, and
you take it from me. Have you nothing joyful to tell me? I know the
present is dark, but is the future also as dreadful? Are there not many
years, and therefore many hopes, to look forward to? We are young--we
love one another; are there no means of struggling against the fate
which threatens us? Oh, Gaston! I feel in myself a great strength, and
if you but say--but no, I am mad; it is I who suffer, and yet I who
console."

"I understand you, Helene--you want a promise, do you not? Well, judge
if I am wretched; I dare not promise. You tell me to hope, and I can but
despair. If I had ten years, five years, one year, at my own disposal, I
would offer them to you, Helene, and think myself blessed, but from the
moment I leave you, we lose each other. From to-morrow morning I belong
no more to myself."

"Oh!" cried Helene, "unhappy that I am, did you then deceive me when you
said you loved me; are you pledged to another?"

"At least, my poor Helene," said Gaston, "on this point I can reassure
you. I have no other love."

"Then we may yet be happy, Gaston, if my new family will recognize you
as my husband."

"Helene, do you not see that every word you utter stabs me to the
heart?"

"But at least tell me what it is."

"Fate, which I cannot