d I said to myself: how my mother would have
loved him! and this thought made my eyes fill with tears. Ah! never,
never did such an idea cross my mind when I was with Edgar, or near
Roger.... Now you must acknowledge, my dear Valentine, that I am right
when I say that: It is he! It is he!

We had been absorbed an hour in these confidential reveries, forgetting
the persons around us, the place we were in, who we were ourselves, and
the whole world!

The universe had disappeared, leaving us only the delicate perfume of
the orange blossoms around us, and the soft light of the stars peeping
forth from the sky above us.

We returned to the parlor and I was seated near the centre-table, when
Edgar came up to me and said:

"What is the matter with you this evening? You seem depressed; are you
not well?"

"I have a slight cold."

"What a tiresome general--he continued--he monopolizes all my evening,
... a tiresome hero is _so_ hard to entertain!"

I forgot to tell you we had a general to dinner.

"Raymond, come here ... it is your turn to keep the warrior awake." ...
M. de Villiers approached the table and began to examine the bouquet I
had brought. "Ah! I recognise these flowers!" he looked at me and I
blushed. "I do too," said Edgar, without taking in the true sense of the
words, and he pointed to the prettiest flowers in the bouquet, and
said: "these are the flowers of the _pelargonium diadematum coccineum_."
I exclaimed at the dreadful name. M. de Villiers repeated: "_Pelargonium
diadematum coccineum_!" in an undertone, with a most fascinating smile,
and said: "Oh! I did not mean that!" ... I could not help looking at him
and smiling in complicity; now why should Edgar be so learned?

I suppose you think it very childish to write you these particulars, but
the most trifling details of this day are precious to me, and I must
confide them to some one. Towards midnight we separated, and I rejoiced
at being alone with my happiness. The emotion I felt was so lively that
I hastened to carry it far away from everybody, even from him, its
author. I wished for solitude that I might ask myself what had caused
this agitation--nothing of importance had occurred this day, no word of
engagement for the future had been made, and yet my whole life wore a
different aspect ... my usually calm heart was throbbing violently--my
mind always so uneasy was settled; who had thus changed my fate?... A
stranger ... and what had he done to