feel as
if I were deceiving some one, that I am not free, that I belong to
another. Oh! what foolish scruples! How little do I deserve sympathy!
You who have known me from my childhood and are interested in my
happiness, will understand and commiserate my folly, for folly I know it
to be, and judge myself as severely as you would.

I have resolved to treat these wretched misgivings and childish fears
as the creations of a diseased mind, and have arranged a plan for their
cure.

I will go into the country for a short time; good Madame Taverneau
offers me the hospitality of her house at Pont-de-l'Arche; she knows
nothing of what has happened during the last six months, and still
believes me to be a poor young widow, forced to paint fans and screens
for her daily bread.

I am very much amused at hearing her relate my own story without
imagining she is talking to the heroine of that singular romance.

Where could she have learned about my sad situation, the minute details
that I supposed no one knew?

"A young orphan girl of noble birth, at the age of twenty compelled by
misfortune to change her name and work for her livelihood, is suddenly
restored to affluence by an accident that carried off all her relatives,
an immensely rich uncle, his wife and son."

She also said my uncle detested me, which proved that she was well
informed--only she adds that the young heiress is horribly ugly, which I
hope is not true!

I will go to Mme. Taverneau and again become the interesting widow of
Monsieur Albert Guerin, of the Navy.

Perilous widowhood which invited from my dear Mme. Taverneau confidences
prematurely enlightening, and which Mlle. Irene de Chateaudun had some
difficulty in forgetting.

Ah! misery is a cruel emancipation! Angelic ignorance, spotless
innocence of mind is a luxury that poor young girls, even the most
circumspect, cannot enjoy.

What presence of mind I had to exercise for three long years in order to
sustain my part!

How often have I felt myself blush, when Mme. Taverneau would say: "Poor
Albert! he must have adored you."

How often have I had to restrain my laughter, when, in enumerating the
perfections of her own husband, she would add, with a look of pity: "It
must distress you to see Charles and me together, our love must recall
your sad loss."

To these remarks I listened with marvellous self-possession; if comedy
or acting of any kind were not distasteful to me, I would make a good
act