omes in play, or what they call
love--the quick beating of the heart--the stormy billows of hope--the
delight over a beautiful face--the sweet sentimentality--sometimes also
prudent calculation--in short, all that troubles the calm sea, which is
the true picture of pure human love------"

She checked herself suddenly, and an expression of pain passed over her
countenance. "I dare not talk more to-day," said she; "my physician
will not allow it. I would like to hear one of Mendelssohn's
songs--that duet, which my young friend used to play years ago. Is it
not so?"

I could not answer, for as she ceased speaking and gently folded her
hands, I saw upon her hand a ring. She wore it on her little
finger--the ring which she had given me and I had given her. Thoughts
came too fast for utterance, and I seated myself at the piano and
played. When I had done, I turned around and said: "Would one could
only speak thus in tones without words!"

"That is possible," said she; "I understood it all. But I must not do
anything more to-day, for every day I grow weaker. We must be better
acquainted, and a poor sick recluse may certainly claim forbearance.
We meet to-morrow evening, at the same hour; shall we not?"

I seized her hand and was about to kiss it, but she held my hand
firmly, pressed it and said: "It is better thus. Good bye."

FIFTH MEMORY.

It would be difficult to describe my thoughts and emotions as I went
home. The soul cannot at once translate itself perfectly in words, and
there are "thoughts without words," which in every man are the prelude
of supreme joy and suffering. It was neither joy nor pain, only an
indescribable bewilderment which I felt; thoughts flew through my
innermost being like meteors, which shoot from heaven towards earth but
are extinguished before they reach the goal. As we sometimes say in a
dream, "I am dreaming," so I said to myself "thou livest"--"it is she."
I tried again to reflect and calm myself, and said, "She is a lovely
vision--a very wonderful spirit." At another time, I pictured the
delightful evenings I should pass during the holidays. But no, no,
this cannot be. She is everything I sought, thought, hoped and
believed. Here was at last a human soul, as clear and fresh as a
spring morning. I had seen at the first glance what she was and how
she felt, and we had greeted and recognized one another. And my good
angel in me, she answered me no more. She was gon