ibility of being
anything to her. And more, he was angry with himself for acquiescing
in that self understood agreement. But it was only in her absence that
these thoughts disturbed him. When he was with her, his whole being
rejoiced in her existence and there was no room for doubt or dread.

He felt himself regenerated through love, and as having no part in
that other Gregoire whom he only thought of to dismiss with
unrecognition.

The time came when he could ill conceal his passion from others.
Therese became conscious of it, through an unguarded glance. The
unhappiness of the situation was plain to her; but to what degree she
could not guess. It was certainly so deplorable that it would have
been worth while to have averted it. Yet, she felt great faith in the
power of time and absence to heal such wounds even to the extent of
leaving no tell-tale scar.

"Gregoire, my boy," she said to him, speaking in French, and laying
her hand on his, when they were alone together. "I hope that your
heart is not too deep in this folly."

He reddened and asked, "What do you mean, aunt?"

"I mean, that unfortunately, you are in love with Melicent. I do not
know how much longer she will remain here, but taking any possibility
for granted, let me advise you to leave the place for a while; go back
to your home, or take a little trip to the city."

"No, I could not."

"Force yourself to it."

"And lose days, perhaps weeks, of being near her? No, no, I could not
do that, aunt. There will be plenty time for that in the rest of my
life," he said, trying to speak calmly and forcing his voice to a
harshness which the nearness of tears made needful.

"Does she know? Have you told her?"

"Oh yes, she knows how much I love her."

"And she does not love you," said Therese, seeming rather to assert
than to question.

"No, she does not. No matter what she says--she does not. I can feel
that here," he answered, striking his breast. "Oh aunt, it is terrible
to think of her going away; forever, perhaps; of never seeing her. I
could not stand it." And he stood the strain no longer, but sobbed and
wept with his aunt's consoling arms around him.

Therese, knowing that Melicent would not tarry much longer with them,
thought it not needful to approach her on the subject. Had it been
otherwise, she would not have hesitated to beg the girl to desist from
this unprofitable amusement of tormenting a human heart.

III

A Talk Under t