e flattered and deeply satisfied by Calyste's love.
Assailed by such powerful seduction, she was resisting it, and her
virtues sang in her soul a concert of praise and self-approval.

The two women were half-sitting, half lying, in apparent indolence on
the divan of the little salon, so filled with harmony and the fragrance
of flowers. The windows were open, for the north wind had ceased to
blow. A soothing southerly breeze was ruffling the surface of the salt
lake before them, and the sun was glittering on the sands of the shore.
Their souls were as deeply agitated as the nature before them was
tranquil, and the heat within was not less ardent.

Bruised by the working of the machinery which she herself had set in
motion, Camille was compelled to keep watch for her safety, fearing
the amazing cleverness of the friendly enemy, or, rather, the inimical
friend she had allowed within her borders. To guard her own secrets
and maintain herself aloof, she had taken of late to contemplations of
nature; she cheated the aching of her own heart by seeking a meaning in
the world around her, finding God in that desert of heaven and earth.
When an unbeliever once perceives the presence of God, he flings himself
unreservedly into Catholicism, which, viewed as a system, is complete.

That morning Camille's brow had worn the halo of thoughts born of these
researches during a night-time of painful struggle. Calyste was ever
before her like a celestial image. The beautiful youth, to whom she had
secretly devoted herself, had become to her a guardian angel. Was it
not he who led her into those loftier regions, where suffering ceased
beneath the weight of incommensurable infinity? and now a certain air
of triumph about Beatrix disturbed her. No woman gains an advantage over
another without allowing it to be felt, however much she may deny having
taken it. Nothing was ever more strange in its course than the dumb,
moral struggle which was going on between these two women, each hiding
from the other a secret,--each believing herself generous through hidden
sacrifices.

Calyste arrived, holding the letter between his hand and his glove,
ready to slip it at some convenient moment into the hand of Beatrix.
Camille, whom the subtle change in the manner of her friend had not
escaped, seemed not to watch her, but did watch her in a mirror at the
moment when Calyste was just entering the room. That is always a crucial
moment for women. The clever