g. Poor Roger! I heartily
pardon him now; more than that, I thank him for having so quickly
disenchanted me.

Edgar!... Edgar!... I hate him when I remember that I tried to love him;
but no, no, there never was anything like love between us! Heavens! what
a difference!... And yet the one of whom I speak with such enthusiasm
... I saw yesterday for the first time ... I know him not ... I know him
not ... and yet I love him!... Valentine, what will you think of me?

This most important day of my life opened in the ordinary way; nothing
foreshadowed the great event that was to decide my fate, that was to
throw so much light upon the dark doubts of my poor heart. This
brilliant sun suddenly burst upon me unheralded by any precursory ray.

Some new guests were expected; a relative of Madame de Meilhan, and a
friend of Edgar, whom they call Don Quixote. This struck me as being a
peculiar nickname, but I did not ask its origin. Like all persons of
imagination, I have no curiosity; I at once find a reason for
everything; I prefer imagining to asking the wherefore of things; I
prefer suppositions to information. Therefore I did not inquire why this
friend was honored with the name of Don Quixote. I explained it to
myself in this wise: A tall, thin young man, resembling the Chevalier de
la Mancha, and who perhaps had dressed himself like Don Quixote at the
carnival, and the name of his disguise had clung to him ever since; I
fancied a silly, awkward youth, with an ugly yellow face, a sort of
solemn jumping-jack, and I confess to no desire to make his
acquaintance. He disturbed me in one respect, but I was quickly
reassured. I am always afraid of being recognised by visitors at the
chateau, and have to exercise a great deal of ingenuity to find out if
we have ever met. Before appearing before them, I inquire if they are
fashionable people, spent last winter in Paris, &c.? I am told Don
Quixote is almost a savage; he travels all the time so as to sustain his
character as knight-errant, and that he spent last winter in Rome....
This quieted my fears ... I did not appear in society until last winter,
so Don Quixote never saw me; knowing we could meet without the
possibility of recognition, I dismissed him from my mind.

Yesterday, at three o'clock, Madame de Meilhan and her son went to the
depot to meet their guests. I was standing at the front door when they
drove off, and Madame de Meilhan called out to me: "My dear Madame
Guer