rry with me to the grave a conviction that a
support and a defender still remains to her. Remember, too, that it is
on your account, on account of a vow, which her inclination, perhaps,
would reject, but which her conscience respects, that she is thus
forsaken and slandered . . ."

The chevalier burst into tears, and in a moment all the sorrows of the
unfortunate family were revealed to me.

"Enough, enough!" I cried, falling at their feet. "All this is too
cruel. I should be the meanest wretch on earth if I had need to be
reminded of my misdeeds and my duties. Let me weep at your knees; let
me atone for the wrong I have done you by eternal grief, by eternal
renunciation. Why not have driven me away when I did the wrong? Why not,
uncle, have blown out my brains with your pistol, as if I had been a
wild beast? What have I done to be spared, I who repaid your kindness
with the ruin of your honour? No, no; I can see that Edmee ought not to
marry me; that would be accepting the shame of the insult I have drawn
upon her. All I ask is to be allowed to remain here; I will never see
her face, if she makes this a condition; but I will lie at her door like
a faithful dog and tear to pieces the first man who dares to present
himself otherwise than on his knees; and if some day an honest man,
more fortunate than myself, shows himself worthy of her love, far
from opposing him, I will intrust to him the dear and sacred task of
protecting and vindicating her. I will be but a friend, a brother to
her, and when I see that they are happy together, I will go far away
from them and die in peace."

My sobs choked me; the chevalier pressed his daughter and myself to his
heart, and we mingled our tears, swearing to him that we would never
leave each other, either during his life or after his death.

"Still, do not give up all hope of marrying her," whispered the
chevalier to me a few moments later, when we were somewhat calmer. "She
has strange whims; but nothing will persuade me to believe that she does
not love you. She does not want to explain matters yet. Woman's will is
God's will."

"And Edmee's will is my will," I replied.

A few days after this scene, which brought the calmness of death into
my soul in place of the tumult of life, I was strolling in the park with
the abbe.

"I must tell you," he said, "of an adventure which befell me yesterday.
There is a touch of romance in it. I had been for a walk in the woods of
Briantes,