remember what she said, such things cannot
be written, the endearments she bestowed upon me when I was only five or
six years old; finally she wept. I promised to stay and return to Paris.
How can you refuse your mother anything when she weeps? Is she not the
only woman whom we can never reproach?

After all, as you have said, Paris is the wildest desert; there you are
completely alone. Indifferent and unknown people may value sands and
swamps.

If my sorrow prove too tenacious, I shall ask my friend Arthur Granson
for the address of the old Teriaki, and I shall send to Cairo for some
boxes of forgetfulness. We will share them together if you wish.
Farewell, dear Roger, I am yours mind and heart,

EDGAR DE MEILHAN.

XXXI.

RAYMOND DE VILLIERS _to_ MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,
Hotel of the Prefecture, Grenoble (Isere).

PARIS, July 30th 18--.

O day of bliss unutterable! I have found her, it is she! As you have
opened your heart to my sadness, madame, open it to my joy. Forget the
unhappy wretch who, a few days ago, abandoned himself to his grief, who
even yesterday bade an eternal farewell to hope. That unfortunate has
ceased to exist; in his place appears a young being intoxicated with
love, for whom life is full of delight and enchantment. How does it
happen that my soul, which should soar on hymns of joy, is filled with
gloomy forebodings? Is it because man is not made for great felicity, or
that happiness is naturally sad, nearer akin to tears than to laughter,
because it feels its fragility and instinctively dreads the approaching
expiation?

After having vainly searched for Mademoiselle de Chateaudun within the
walls of Rouen, M. de Monbert decided, on receipt of some new
information, to seek her among the old chateaux of Brittany. My sorrow,
feeding upon itself, counselled me not to accompany him. The fact is
that I could be of no earthly use in his search. Besides, I thought I
perceived that my presence embarrassed him. To tell the truth, we were a
constraint upon each other. Every sorrowful heart willingly believes
itself the centre of the universe, and will not admit the existence,
under heaven, of any other grief than its own. I let the Prince depart,
and set out alone for Paris. One last hope remained; I persuaded myself
that if Louise had not loved M. de Meilhan she would have left Richeport
at the same time that I did.

I got out at Pont de l'Arche, and prowled like a felon about the s