rquise, had convinced
her that her happiness depended upon a marriage in accordance with the
dictates of her heart, and that the one being destined from all eternity
to crown her life with bliss unspeakable was Philip. Reared together,
they thoroughly understood and esteemed each other; they had shared the
same joys and the same impressions. There was a bond between them which
nothing could break, and which made their souls one indissolubly. In her
eyes, Philip was the handsomest, the most honorable, the most noble and
the most perfect of men. Was not this love? Why then did Dolores persist
in her silence when her lover was anxiously waiting to learn his fate?
Simply because she feared to displease the Marquis. She owed everything
to his generosity. She had no fortune. If she became Philip's wife, she
could confer upon the house of Chamondrin none of those advantages which
the Marquis hoped to gain from a grand alliance, and for the sake of
which he had condemned himself to a life of obscurity and privation.
Would he ever consent to a marriage that so ruthlessly destroyed his
ambitious dreams? And if he did not consent, how terrible would be her
position when compelled to choose between the love of the son and the
wrath of the father! And, even if he consented, would it not cost him
the most terrible of sacrifices? Shattered already by the untimely death
of his wife, would he survive this blow to his long-cherished hopes?
Such were the sorrowful thoughts that presented themselves to the mind
of Dolores and deprived her of the power to speak. She dare not make
Philip a confidant of her fears; and to declare that she did not love
him was beyond her strength. Even when the impossibility of this
marriage became clearly apparent to her, she had not courage to lie to
her lover and to trample her own heart underfoot. One alternative
remained: to reveal the truth to the Marquis. But this would imperil
all. A secret presentiment warned her if she, herself, disclosed the
truth, that it would be to her that the Marquis would appeal in order to
compel Philip to renounce his hopes, since it was in her power to
destroy them by a single word. Day followed day, and Dolores, beset
alternately by hopes and fears, was waiting for fate to solve the
question upon which her future happiness depended.

Two mouths later, the Marquis was summoned to Marseilles by a cousin,
who was lying at the point of death. He departed immediately,
accompanie