with the fulness of tears in her
eyes. She seemed as if transfigured by that presence; as if the being
whom she saw before her belonged not to this earth. The reflection of an
angel was in her look.

The stranger, who was to Gilliatt only a shadow, spoke. A voice issued
from the trees, softer than the voice of a woman; yet it was the voice
of a man. Gilliatt heard these words:

"I see you, mademoiselle, every Sunday and every Thursday. They tell me
that once you used not to come so often. It is a remark that has been
made. I ask your pardon. I have never spoken to you; it was my duty; but
I come to speak to you to-day, for it is still my duty. It is right
that I speak to you first. The _Cashmere_ sails to-morrow. This is why I
have come. You walk every evening in your garden. It would be wrong of
me to know your habits so well, if I had not the thought that I have.
Mademoiselle, you are poor; since this morning I am rich. Will you have
me for your husband?"

Deruchette joined her two hands in a suppliant attitude, and looked at
the speaker, silent, with fixed eyes, and trembling from head to foot.

The voice continued:

"I love you. God made not the heart of man to be silent. He has promised
him eternity with the intention that he should not be alone. There is
for me but one woman upon earth. It is you. I think of you as of a
prayer. My faith is in God, and my hope in you. What wings I have you
bear. You are my life, and already my supreme happiness."

"Sir," said Deruchette, "there is no one to answer in the house!"

The voice rose again:

"Yes, I have encouraged that dream. Heaven has not forbidden us to
dream. You are like a glory in my eyes. I love you deeply, mademoiselle.
To me you are holy innocence. I know it is the hour at which your
household have retired to rest, but I had no choice of any other moment.
Do you remember that passage of the Bible which some one read before us;
it was the twenty-fifth chapter of Genesis. I have thought of it often
since. M. Herode said to me, you must have a rich wife. I replied no, I
must have a poor wife. I speak to you, mademoiselle, without venturing
to approach you; I would step even further back if it was your wish that
my shadow should not touch your feet. You alone are supreme. You will
come to me if such is your will. I love and wait. You are the living
form of a benediction."

"I did not know, sir," stammered Deruchette, "that any one remarked me
on Sundays