ked herself and relapsed into her accustomed coldness. Upon one
occasion I could not restrain my tears. I saw her turn pale. As I was
going, she said to me at the door:

"To-morrow I am going to Sainte-Luce (a neighboring village), and it is
too far to go on foot. Be here with your horse early in the morning, if
you have nothing to do, and go with me."

I was on hand promptly, as may readily be imagined. I had slept over that
word with transports of joy; but, upon leaving my house, I experienced a
feeling of deep dejection. In restoring me to the privilege I had
formerly enjoyed of accompanying her on her missions about the country,
she had clearly been guilty of a cruel caprice if she did not love me.
She knew how I was suffering; why abuse my courage unless she had changed
her mind?

This reflection had a strange influence on me. When she mounted her horse
my heart beat violently as I took her foot; I do not know whether it was
from desire or anger. "If she is touched," I said to myself, "why this
reserve? If she is a coquette, why so much liberty?"

Such are men. At my first word she saw that a change had taken place in
me. I did not speak to her, but kept to the other side of the road. When
we reached the valley she appeared at ease, and only turned her head from
time to time to see if I was following her; but when we came to the
forest and our horses' hoofs resounded against the rocks that lined the
road, I saw that she was trembling. She stopped as though to wait for me,
as I was some distance in the rear; when I had overtaken her she set out
at a gallop. We soon reached the foot of the mountain and were compelled
to slacken our pace. I then made my way to her side; our heads were
bowed; the time had come, I took her hand.

"Brigitte," I said, "are you weary of my complaints? Since I have been
reinstated in your favor, since I have been allowed to see you every day
and every evening, I have asked myself if I have been importunate. During
the last two months, while strength and hope have been failing me, have I
said a word of that fatal love which is consuming me? Raise your head and
answer me. Do you not see that I suffer and that my nights are given to
weeping? Have you not met in the forest an unfortunate wretch sitting in
solitary dejection with his hands pressed to his forehead? Have you not
seen tears on these bushes? Look at me, look at these mountains; do you
realize that I love you? They know it, they