ursed house lay concealed in the midst of beautiful
trees and smiling waters.

An electric shock must have communicated to you, dear Edgar, the
oppression of heart I felt at the sight of the landscape. There was the
history of love in every tree and flower. There was an ineffable record
in the hedges of the valleys; loving caresses in the murmur of the
water-lilies; ecstasies of lovers in the quivering of the leaves; divine
intoxication in the exhalations of the wild flowers, and in the lights,
shadows and gentle breezes under the mysterious alcoves of the trees.
Oh! how happy they must have been in this paradise! The whole air was
filled with the life of their love and happiness! There must have been
present a supernatural and invisible being, who was a jealous witness of
this wedded bliss, and who made use of your sword to destroy it! So much
happiness was an offence before heaven. We have been the blind
instrument of a wrathful spirit. But what mattered death after such a
day of perfect bliss! After having tasted the most exquisite tenderness
in the world! When looking at the proud young husband sitting in this
flowery bower, with the soft starlight revealing his happy face as he
tenderly and hopefully gazed on his lovely bride, who would not have
exclaimed with the poet,

"My life for a moment of bliss like this."

Who would not have welcomed your sword-thrust as the price of a moment's
duration of such divine joy?

The survivors are the unfortunate ones, because they saw but could not
taste this happiness.

Infernal Tantalus of the delights of Paradise, because their dream has
become the reality of another, and lawful vengeance leaves them a
satisfaction poisoned by remorse!

Come with me, dear Edgar, in my sad pilgrimage to this accursed house,
and with me behold the closing scene. I left the shade of the woods and
approached the lawn, that, like an immense terrace of grass and flowers,
spread before the house. I saw many strange things, and with that
comprehensive, sweeping glance of feverish excitement; two horses
covered with foam, their saddles empty and bridles dragging, trampled
down the flower-borders. One horse was Raymond's, returned riderless!
Doubtless brought home by the servant who had accompanied him.

Not a face was visible, in the sun, the shade, the orchard, on the
steps, or at the windows. I observed in the garden two rakes lying on
some beautiful lilies; they had not been carefully lai