; then I returned to the bedside. That I
was going away tomorrow was the only thought in my mind, and little by
little the word "depart" became intelligible to me. "Ah! God!" I suddenly
cried, "my poor mistress, I am about to lose you, and I have not known
how to love you!"

I trembled at these words as if it had been another who had pronounced
them; they resounded through all my being as resounds the string of the
harp that has been plucked to the point of breaking. In an instant two
years of suffering again racked my breast, and after them as their
consequence and as their last expression, the present seized me. How
shall I describe such woe? By a single word, perhaps, for those who have
loved. I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she had
pronounced my name.

I arose and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. I
held out my arms as if to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is it
possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one
but you. What! you are going away? And forever? What! you, my life, my
adored mistress, you flee me, I shall never see you more? Never! never!"
I said aloud; and, addressing myself to the slumbering Brigitte as if she
could hear me, I added: "Never, never; do not think of it; I will never
consent to it. And why so much pride? Are there no means of atoning for
the offense I have committed? I beg of you, let us seek some expiation.
Have you not pardoned me a thousand times? But you love me, you will not
be able to go, for courage will fail you. What shall we do?"

A horrible madness seized me; I began to run here and there in search of
some instrument of death. At last I fell on my knees and beat my head
against the bed. Brigitte stirred, and I remained quiet, fearing I should
waken her.

"Let her sleep until to-morrow," I said to myself; "I have all night to
watch her."

I resumed my place; I was so frightened at the idea of waking Brigitte,
that I scarcely dared breathe. Gradually I became more calm and less
bitter tears began to course gently down my cheeks. Tenderness succeeded
fury. I leaned over Brigitte and looked at her as if, for the last time,
my better angel were urging me to grave on my soul the lines of that dear
face!

How pale she was! Her large eyes, surrounded by a bluish circle, were
moist with tears; her form, once so lithe, was bent as if beneath a
burden; her cheek, wasted and leaden, rested on a hand that wa