iting despair? Perhaps I have failed to appreciate some sincere
affection, repulsed unwittingly some simple, tender heart that your
coldness now avenges; perhaps you are, unconsciously, the Nemesis of
some forgotten fault.

How fearful it is to suffer from rejected love! To say to oneself: "The
loved one exists, far from me, without me; she is young, smiling,
lovely--to others; my despair is only an annoyance to her, I am
necessary to her in nothing; my absence leaves no void in her life; my
death would only provoke from her an expression of careless pity; my
good and noble qualities have made no impression upon her; my verses,
the delight of other young hearts, she has never read; my talents are as
destructive to me as if they were crimes; why seek a hell in another
world; is it not here?"

And besides, what infinite tenderness, what perpetual care, what timid
and loving persistence, what obedience to every unexpressed wish, what
prompt realization of even the slightest fancy! for what! for a careless
glance, a smile that the thought of another brings to her lips! How can
it be helped! he who is not beloved is always in the wrong.

I go away, carrying the iron in my wound; I will not drag it out, I
prefer to die with it. May you live happy, may the fearful suffering
that you have caused me never be expiated. I would have it so; society
punishes murder of the body, heaven punishes murders of the soul. May
your hidden assassination escape Divine vengeance as long as possible.

Farewell, Louise, farewell.

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

XXVIII.

IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN _to_ MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,
Hotel de la Prefecture, Grenoble (Isere).

PARIS, July 27th 18--.

Valentine, I am very uneasy. Why have I not heard from you for a month?
Are you in any trouble? Is one of your dear children ill? Are you no
longer at Grenoble? Have you taken your trip without me? The last would
be the most acceptable reason for your silence. You have not received my
letters, and ignorance of my sorrows accounts for your not writing to
console me. Yet never have I been in greater need of the offices of
friendship. The resolution I have just taken fills me with alarm. I
acted against my judgment, but I could not do otherwise. I was
influenced by an agonized mother, whose hallowed grief persuaded me
against my will to espouse her interests. Why have I not a friend here
to interpose in my behalf and save me from myself? But, after all, do