a true friend."

"Well, do so."

"Very well; my heart is full of scruples and silly feelings of pride,
with respect to everything that a woman ought to keep secret, and in
this respect no one has ever read into the bottom of my soul."

"That I know very well. If I had read it, I should not interrogate you
as I have done; I should simply say,--'My good Louise, you have the
happiness of an acquaintance with M. de Bragelonne, who is an excellent
young man, and an advantageous match for a girl without fortune. M. de
la Fere will leave something like fifteen thousand livres a year to his
son. At a future day, then, you, as this son's wife, will have fifteen
thousand livres a year; which is not bad. Turn, then, neither to the
right hand nor to the left, but go frankly to M. de Bragelonne; that
is to say, to the altar to which he will lead you. Afterwards, why--
afterwards, according to his disposition, you will be emancipated or
enslaved; in other words, you will have a right to commit any piece of
folly people commit who have either too much liberty or too little.'
That is, my dear Louise, what I should have told you at first, if I had
been able to read your heart."

"And I should have thanked you," stammered out Louise, "although the
advice does not appear to me to be altogether sound."

"Wait, wait. But immediately after having given you that advice, I
should have added,--'Louise, it is very dangerous to pass whole days
with your head drooping, your hands unoccupied, your eyes restless and
full of thought; it is dangerous to prefer the least frequented paths,
and no longer be amused with such diversions as gladden young girls'
hearts; it is dangerous, Louise, to scrawl with the point of your foot,
as you do, upon the gravel, certain letters it is useless for you to
efface, but which appear again under your heel, particularly when those
letters rather resemble the letter L than the letter B; and, lastly, it
is dangerous to allow the mind to dwell on a thousand wild fancies, the
fruits of solitude and heartache; these fancies, while they sink into
a young girl's mind, make her cheeks sink in also, so that it is not
unusual, on such occasions, to find the most delightful persons in
the world become the most disagreeable, and the wittiest to become the
dullest.'"

"I thank you, dearest Aure," replied La Valliere, gently; "it is like
you to speak to me in this manner, and I thank you for it."

"It was only for the bene