ne day she quite healed my wound by saying with
her charming abruptness:

"And if I loved you enough to absolve you in my own heart, and defend
you in public at the cost of a lie, what would you say to that?"

A point on which I felt no less concern was to know how far I might
believe in the love which she declared she had had for me from the very
beginning of our acquaintance. Here she betrayed a little confusion, as
if, in her invincible pride, she regretted having revealed a secret she
had so jealously guarded. It was the abbe who undertook to confess for
her. He assured me that at that time he had frequently scolded Edmee for
her affection for "the young savage." As an objection to this, I told
him of the conversation between Edmee and himself which I had overheard
one evening in the park. This I repeated with that great accuracy of
memory I possess. However, he replied:

"That very evening, if you had followed us a little further under the
trees, you might have overheard a dispute that would have completely
reassured you, and have explained how, from being repugnant (I may
almost say odious) to me, as you then were, you became at first
endurable, and gradually very dear."

"You must tell me," I exclaimed, "who worked the miracle."

"One word will explain it," he answered; "Edmee loved you. When she had
confessed this to me, she covered her face with her hands and remained
for a moment as if overwhelmed with shame and vexation; then suddenly
she raised her head and exclaimed:

"'Well, since you wish to know the absolute truth, I love him! Yes,
I love him! I am smitten with him, as you say. It is not my fault; why
should I blush at it? I cannot help it; it is the work of fate. I have
never loved M. de la Marche; I merely feel a friendship for him. For
Bernard I have a very different feeling--a feeling so strong, so varied,
so full of unrest, of hatred, of fear, of pity, of anger, of tenderness,
that I understand nothing about it, and no longer try to understand
anything.'"

"'Oh, woman, woman!' I exclaimed, clasping my hands in bewilderment,
'thou art a mystery, an abyss, and he who thinks to know thee is totally
mad!'

"'As many times as you like, abbe,' she answered, with a firmness in
which there were signs of annoyance and confusion, 'it is all the same
to me. On this point I have lectured myself more than you have lectured
all your flocks in your whole life. I know that Bernard is a bear,
a badger, as