ead of me again. I dug my spurs into its sides till the blood streamed
from them. At last, after being nearly thrown several times, I reached
the other bank, and, blind with rage, started in pursuit of Edmee. I
overtook her, and seizing the mare's bridle, I exclaimed:

"Stop, Edmee, I say! You shall not go any farther."

At the same time I shook the reins so violently that her horse reared.
She lost her balance, and, to avoid falling, jumped lightly to the
ground between our two animals, at the risk of being hurt. I was on
the ground almost as soon as herself. I at once pushed the horses away.
Edmee's, which was very quiet, stopped and began to browse. Mine bolted
out of sight. All this was the affair of an instant.

I had caught Edmee in my arms; she freed herself and said, in a sharp
tone:

"You are very brutal, Bernard; and I hate these ways of yours. What is
the matter with you?"

Perplexed and confused, I told her that I thought her mare was bolting,
and that I was afraid some accident might happen to her if she allowed
herself to be carried away by the excitement of the ride.

"And to save me," she replied, "you make me fall, at the risk of killing
me! Really, that was most considerate of you."

"Let me help you to mount again," I said.

And without waiting for her permission, I took her in my arms and lifted
her off the ground.

"You know very well that I do not mount in this way!" she exclaimed, now
quite irritated. "Leave me alone; I don't want your help."

But I was no longer in a state to obey her. I was losing my head;
my arms were tightening around her waist, and it was in vain that I
endeavoured to take them away. My lips touched her bosom in spite of
myself. She grew pale with anger.

"Oh, how unfortunate I am!" I said, with my eyes full of tears; "how
unfortunate I am to be always offending you, and to be hated more and
more in proportion as my love for you grows greater!"

Edmee was of an imperious and violent nature. Her character, hardened by
trials, had every year developed greater strength. She was no longer the
trembling girl making a parade of courage, but in reality more ingenuous
than bold, whom I had clasped in my arms at Roche-Mauprat. She was now a
proud, fearless woman, who would have let herself be killed rather than
give the slightest countenance to an audacious hope. Besides, she was
now the woman who knows that she is passionately loved and is conscious
of her power. She re