I love--oh! that is
the law--will repay me with the tortures I have made others undergo."

D'Artagnan made no reply: he was too well convinced she was not
mistaken.

"Well! then," added she, "dear Monsieur d'Artagnan, do not overwhelm me
to-day, I again implore you. I am like the branch torn from the trunk, I
no longer hold to anything in this world, and a current drags me on, I
cannot say whither. I love madly, I love to the point of coming to tell
it, impious as I am, over the ashes of the dead; and I do not blush for
it--I have no remorse on account of it. This love is a religion. Only,
as hereafter you will see me alone, forgotten, disdained; as you will
see me punished with that with which I am destined to be punished, spare
me in my ephemeral happiness, leave it to me for a few days, for a few
minutes. Now even, at the moment I am speaking to you, perhaps it no
longer exists. My God! This double murder is perhaps already expiated!"

While she was speaking thus, the sound of voices and the steps of horses
drew the attention of the captain. M. de Saint-Aignan came to seek La
Valliere. "The king," he said, "was a prey to jealousy and uneasiness."
Saint-Aignan did not see D'Artagnan, half concealed by the trunk of a
chestnut-tree which shaded the two graves. Louise thanked Saint-Aignan,
and dismissed him with a gesture. He rejoined the party outside the
inclosure.

"You see, madame," said the captain bitterly to the young woman--"you
see that your happiness still lasts."

The young woman raised her head with a solemn air. "A day will come,"
said she, "when you will repent of having so ill-judged me. On that day,
it is I who will pray God to forgive you for having been unjust toward
me. Besides, I shall suffer so much that you will be the first to pity
my sufferings. Do not reproach me with that happiness, Monsieur
d'Artagnan; it costs me dear, and I have not paid all my debt." Saying
these words, she again knelt down, softly and affectionately.

"Pardon me, the last time, my affianced Raoul!" said she. "I have broken
our chain; we are both destined to die of grief. It is thou who
departest the first; fear nothing, I shall follow thee. See only, that I
have not been base, and that I have come to bid thee this last adieu.
The Lord is my witness, Raoul, that if with my life I could have
redeemed thine, I would have given that life without hesitation. I could
not give my love. Once more, pardon!"

She gathered a