r that fell upon the forehead! And yet, she
had seen the face in reality less than half a dozen times. Why had it
entered so persistently into her dreams? Why had the flush risen to her
cheeks at the thought? At another time she would have refused to listen
to the voice which answered; but now, as the object of her thoughts
lay dying on her pillow, her mind would not play truant to her heart.
Sometimes the approach of love is so imperceptible that it does not
provoke analysis. We wake suddenly to find it in our hearts, so strong
and splendid that we submit without question.... All, all her dreams had
vanished, the latest and the fairest. Across the azure of her youth
had come and gone a vague, beautiful flash of love. The door of earthly
paradise had opened and closed. That delicate string which vibrates with
the joy of living seemed parted; her heart was broken, and her young
breast a tomb. With straining eyes she continued to gaze. The invisible
arms of her love clasped Maurice to her heart and held him there. Only
that day he had stood before her, a delight to the eye; and she had
given him her hand to kiss. How bravely he had gone forth from the city!
She had followed him with her ardent gaze until he was no longer to be
seen. And now he lay dying.... for her.

"Monsieur," she said, turning to the physician, "I have something to say
to Monseigneur."

The physician bowed and passed into the boudoir, the door of which he
closed.

"Father," she said to the prelate, "I have no secrets from you." She
pointed to Maurice. "I love him. I know not why. He comes from a foreign
land; his language nor his people are mine, and yet the thought of him
has filled my soul. I have talked to him but four different times; and
yet I love him. Why? I can not tell. The mind has no power to rule the
impulse of love. Were he to live, perhaps my love would be a sin. Is it
not strange, father, that I love him? I have lost parental love; I am
losing a love a woman holds priceless above all others. He is dying
because of me. He loves me. I read it in his eyes just before he fell.
Perhaps it is better for him and for me that he should die, for if he
lived I could not live without him. Father, do I sin?"

"No, my child," and the prelate closed his eyes.

"I have been so lonely," she said, "so alone. I craved the love of the
young. He was so different from any man I had met before. His bright,
handsome face seemed constantly with me."

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