be sure that if once I
hold him, I shall not let go."

Remy looked pityingly at the young man; but Diana heard nothing--she was
praying.

CHAPTER LXX.

TRANSFIGURATION.

After her prayer Diana rose so beautiful and radiant that the comte
uttered a cry of surprise and admiration. She appeared to be waking out
of a long sleep, of which the dreams had fatigued her and weighed upon
her mind; or rather, she was like the daughter of Jairus, called from
death and rising from her funeral couch, already purified and ready for
heaven. Awakening from her lethargy, she cast around her a glance so
sweet and gentle, that Henri began to believe he should see her feel for
his pain, and yield to a sentiment of gratitude and pity. While the
gendarmes, after their frugal repast, slept about among the ruins, while
Remy himself yielded to it, Henri came and sat down close to Diana, and
in a voice so low and sweet that it seemed a murmur of the breeze, said:

"Madame, you live. Oh! let me tell you all the joy which overflows my
heart when I see you here in safety, after having seen you on the
threshold of the tomb."

"It is true, monsieur," replied she; "I live through you, and I wish I
could say I was grateful."

"But, madame," replied Henri, with an immense effort, "if it is only
that you are restored to those you love?"

"What do you mean?"

"To those you are going to rejoin through so many perils."

"Monsieur, those I loved are dead! those I am going to rejoin are so
also."

"Oh, madame!" cried Henri, falling on his knees, "throw your eyes on
me--on me, who have suffered so much and loved so much. Oh, do not turn
away; you are young, and beautiful as the angels in heaven; read my
heart, which I open to you, and you will see that it contains not an
atom of that love that most men feel. You do not believe me? Examine the
past hours; which of them has given me joy, or even hope? yet I have
persevered. You made me weep; I devoured my tears. You made me suffer; I
hid my sufferings. You drove me to seek death, and I went to meet it
without a complaint. Even at this moment, when you turn away your head,
when each of my words, burning as they are, seems a drop of iced water
falling on your heart, my soul is full of you, and I live only because
you live. Just now, was I not ready to die with you? What have I asked
for? Nothing. Have I touched your hand? Never, but to draw you from a
mortal peril. I held you in my arms to d