that you are not astonished at finding me here?" I was
silent, but my blushes answered for me. As he stood there looking at me
I heard a noise near us; it was only a deer coming to drink at the
spring; but I trembled so violently that M. de Villiers saw by my alarm
that it would distress me to be found alone with him; he was moving
away, when I made a sign for him to remain, which meant: Stay, and
continue to think of me.... I then quickly returned to the chateau. I
have seen him since; we passed the day together, with Madame de Meilhan
and her son, playing on the piano, or entertaining the country
neighbors, but under it all enjoying the same fascinating
preoccupation, an under-current of bliss, a secret intoxication. Edgar
is uneasy and Madame de Meilhan is contented; the serious love of her
son alarmed her; she sees with pleasure an increasing rivalry that may
destroy it. I know not what is about to happen, but I dread anything
unpleasant occurring to interrupt my sweet contentment; any
explanations, humiliations, adieux, departures--a thousand
annoyances,... but it matters not, I am happy, I am in love, and I know
there is nothing so satisfying, so sweet as being in love!

This time I say nothing of yourself, my dear Valentine, of yourself, nor
of our old friendship, but is not each word of this letter a proof of
tender devotion? I confide to you every thought and emotion of my
heart--so foolish that one would dare not confess them to a mother. Is
not this the same as saying to you: You are the beloved sister of my
choice?

Give my dear little goddaughter Irene a kiss for me. Oh, I am so glad
she is growing prettier every day!

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN.

XX.

ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN
Richeport, Pont de l'Arche (Eure).

Paris, July 8th 18--.

Dear Edgar,--Stupidity was invented by our sex. When a woman deceives or
deserts us,--synonymous transgressions,--we are foolish enough to
prolong to infinity our despair, instead of singing with Metastasio--

"Grazie all' inganni tuoi
Al fin respir' o Nice!"

Alas! such is man! Women have more pride. If I had deserted Mlle. de
Chateaudun she certainly would not have searched the highways and byways
to discover me. I fear there is a great deal of vanity at the bottom of
our manly passions. Vanity is the eldest son of love. I shall develop
this theory upon some future occasion. One must be calm when one
philosophizes. At present I am obl