d
Madame Chessel. On my return she reproached me.

"Henriette," I said, "I cannot be false. I will throw myself into the
water to save my enemy from drowning, and give him my coat to keep him
warm; I will forgive him, but I cannot forget the wrong."

She was silent, but she pressed my arm.

"You are an angel, and you were sincere in your thanksgiving," I said,
continuing. "The mother of the Prince of the Peace was saved from the
hands of an angry populace who sought to kill her, and when the queen
asked, 'What did you do?' she answered, 'I prayed for them.' Women are
ever thus. I am a man, and necessarily imperfect."

"Don't calumniate yourself," she said, shaking my arm, "perhaps you are
more worthy than I."

"Yes," I replied, "for I would give eternity for a day of happiness, and
you--"

"I!" she said haughtily.

I was silent and lowered my eyes to escape the lightning of hers.

"There is many an I in me," she said. "Of which do you speak? Those
children," pointing to Jacques and Madeleine, "are one--Felix," she
cried in a heartrending voice, "do you think me selfish? Ought I to
sacrifice eternity to reward him who devotes to me his life? The thought
is dreadful; it wounds every sentiment of religion. Could a woman so
fallen rise again? Would her happiness absolve her? These are questions
you force me to consider.--Yes, I betray at last the secret of my
conscience; the thought has traversed my heart; often do I expiate it by
penance; it caused the tears you asked me to account for yesterday--"

"Do you not give too great importance to certain things which common
women hold at a high price, and--"

"Oh!" she said, interrupting me; "do you hold them at a lower?"

This logic stopped all argument.

"Know this," she continued. "I might have the baseness to abandon
that poor old man whose life I am; but, my friend, those other feeble
creatures there before us, Madeleine and Jacques, would remain with
their father. Do you think, I ask you do you think they would be alive
in three months under the insane dominion of that man? If my failure of
duty concerned only myself--" A noble smile crossed her face. "But shall
I kill my children! My God!" she exclaimed. "Why speak of these things?
Marry, and let me die!"

She said the words in a tone so bitter, so hollow, that they stifled the
remonstrances of my passion.

"You uttered cries that day beneath the walnut-tree; I have uttered my
cries here beneath these ald