made this offer very simply, but in a tone that left no possible
doubt of his sincerity. Though she was touched by his devotion, Dolores
firmly refused. She explained that his place was at the chateau, and
that, as she expected to return there herself after Philip's marriage, a
convent would be the safest and most dignified retreat she could enter.

"So be it, then," responded Coursegol; "but should you ever change your
plans, remember that my life, my little fortune and my devotion are
yours, to use as you see fit."

His emotion, as he spoke, was even greater than hers.

Early in the year 1789 Dolores entered the convent of the Carmelites in
Arles, not as a postulant--for she did not wish to devote herself to a
religious life--but as a boarder, which placed a barrier between her and
Philip for the time being, but left her free to decide upon her future.

Her departure filled Philip with despair. The death of Dolores could not
have caused him more intense sorrow. For was she not dead to him? She
had carefully concealed the fact that her sojourn at the convent would
not be permanent. He supposed she had buried herself there forever. He
mourned for her as we weep for those that death wrests from us,
destroying their lives and our happiness at a single blow; but the very
violence of his grief convinced his father that he was not inconsolable.
There are sorrows that kill; but, if they do not kill when they first
fall upon us, we recover; and this would be the case with Philip. The
certainty that Dolores would never belong to another, that she had
refused him only to give herself to God, was of all circumstances the
one most likely to console him. The presence of Antoinette--who honestly
believed all Dolores had said concerning the state of her heart and the
purely sisterly affection she felt for her adopted brother--and the
timid, shrinking love of the young girl also aided not a little in
assuaging his grief. However ardent your passion may be, you become
reconciled to disappointment when the object of your love refuses your
affection only to consecrate herself to God, and when she leaves with
you as a comforter a companion who is her equal in gentleness and in
goodness, if not in energy and nobility of character. Without entering
into other details, this sufficiently explains how Philip's passionate
grief came to abate in violence.

He wished to leave Chamondrin the very next day after the departure of
Dolores, and to