in my
existence. Since the first glance you ever cast upon me, sir--on that day
when I went up to you while you were sketching the old church--since that
first glance, I belonged to you. I have never loved, I shall never love
any man but you. Will you take me for your wife? I am worthy of it--I
swear it to you in the presence of that Heaven which is looking down upon
us!"

"Dear madam--dear child--your kindness, your affection move me to the
depths of my soul; in mercy, be more calm; let me retain a gleam of
reason!"

"Ah! if your heart speaks, listen to it, sir! It is not with reason that I
can be judged! Alas! I feel it! you still doubt me, you still doubt my
past life. Oh, Heavens! that opinion of the world which I have always
scorned, how it is killing me now!"

"No, madam, you are mistaken; but what could I offer you in exchange for
all you wish to sacrifice for my sake--for the habits, the tastes, the
pleasures of your whole life?"

"But that life inspires me with horror! You think that I would regret it?
You think that some day I may again become the woman I have been, the
madcap you have known?--you think so! And how can I help your believing
it? And yet I know very well that I would never cause you that sorrow, nor
any other--never! I have discovered in your eyes a new world I did not
know--a more dignified, more lofty world, of which I had never conceived
the idea--and outside of which I can no longer live. Ah! you must
certainly feel that I am telling you the truth!"

"Yes, madam, you are telling me the truth--the truth of the hour--of a
moment of fever and excitement; but this new world, which appears dimly to
you now--this ideal world in which you desire to seek an eternal refuge
against mere transient evils--would never keep all it seems to promise.
Disappointment, regret, misery await you within it--and do not await you
alone. I know not if there be a man gifted with a sufficiently noble mind,
with a sufficiently lofty soul to make you love the new existence of which
you are dreaming to preserve in the reality the almost divine character
which your imagination imparts to it; but I do know that such a task,
sweet as it might be, is beyond my strength; I would be insane, I would be
a wretch, if I were to accept it."

"Is that your final decision? Cannot reflection alter it in any way?"

"In no way."

"Farewell then, sir--ah! unhappy woman that I am!--farewell!"

She grasped my hand, which she wru