DGAR DE MEILHAN,

VILLIERS, Aug 18th 18--.

Let us drop such language unworthy of you and of me. We are gentlemen,
of military descent; our fathers when they did each other the honor that
you offer me, challenged, but did not insult each other. If the affair
were equal, if I had only one to contend with, perhaps I might attempt
to bring him to reason There are two of you; come on, I await you.

COMTE DE VILLIERS XXXIX.

VILLIERS, August 21st 18--.

For two days I have been trying to answer your letter, my dear
Valentine, but I am so uneasy, nervous and excited that I dare not
commit to paper my wild and troubled thoughts; I am still sane enough to
accuse myself of madness, but dread to prove it. Were I to write down
all the strange ideas that rush through my mind, and then read them
over, conviction of insanity would stare me in the face.

I was right when I told you it was a risk to accept such a wealth of
happiness; my sweet enchantment is disturbed by dark threatening
clouds--danger lurks in the air--the lightest word fills me with
uneasiness--a letter written in a strange hand--an unexpected visitor,
who leaves Raymond looking preoccupied--everything alarms me, and he
gently chides me and asks why I look so sad. I say because I am too
happy; but he thinks this a poor reason for my depression, and to divert
my thoughts he walks with me through the beautiful valleys and tells me
of his youth and the golden dreams of his early manhood, and assures me
that his dreams of happiness are realized beyond his most exalted
hopes--that he did not believe the angels would permit so perfect a
being as myself to dwell on earth--that to be loved by me for a day, for
an hour, he would willingly give up his life, and that such a sacrifice
was a small price for such a love. I dared not mar his happiness by
giving expression to my sad fears. His presence allays my apprehensions;
he has so much confidence in the future that I cannot help being
inspired with a portion of it; thus, when he is near me, I feel happy
and reassured, but if he leaves me for a moment I am beset by myriads of
terrible threatening phantoms. I accuse myself of having been imprudent
and cruel; I fear I have not, as you say, inspired two undying passions,
two life-long devotions, but exasperated two vindictive men. I well know
that M. de Monbert did not love me, and yet I fear his unjust
resentment. I recall Edgar's absurd breach of faith, and Edgar, whose