roses sparkling with dew in the
rosy light of morning.

"Verily my soul becomes young again, when I think on those days. Oh! he
grows not old, who lives only in the solitude of his recollections, as
I do. With poor Lacoste things went on still worse than with myself. He
wasted away, and wished for death. Often did he call upon it with
fearful words. There was something heart-rending in his look. My friend
Beauvais had also become pale, his youth was evaporating. Oh! there is
nothing so terrible as to be compelled to doubt the worth of the
beloved object; that gives more pain than despised affection. And in
these pangs the hapless man was now perishing. Lucy was a puzzle to me
also, when I was able to direct a look at her, she as well as Euphemie
were constrained and timid, sought, and at the same tine avoided
solitude, longed to pour out the overflowings of the heart to each
other or their beloved, yet could not find the time, or perhaps, could
not exert sufficient courage. All the same men, who, but a short time
previously sounded in concord together like heavenly tones, now
screamed in yelling discord against one another; the apparent sanctity
had changed into human folly, and each understood the other as little
as himself. The elder Beauvais seemed to guess a little the horrible
confusion, for he frequently looked at us all with dark and penetrating
glances.

"At length this twisted knot disentangled itself again. Euphemie's
brother began to recover, the former projects were brought forward
again, and my overwhelming passion was compelled to give place by
degrees to a calm resignation. This only was the case, for I was
determined to make good my supposed rights, until I perceived that the
delicate Euphemie must perish in this storm; Lucy at length declared
herself for Beauvais, and it was discovered, that his too intimate
intercourse with Lacoste was alone the cause of her reserve towards
him. The fear had risen within her, that he himself might be inclined
to the free-thinking opinions of his rival. So great was her love to
her church, that she had resolved, rather to sacrifice her dear
betrothed than to live in the proximity of persuasions, which she
considered as utterly profane. And it is true, the more zealous we were
to recognise truth and divinity in one form only, the more did Lacoste
seize every opportunity to express his incredulity. Indeed, however,
miserable he felt within himself, he sought by a certa