trembled, and her
eyes wandered to and fro.

"'Well,' she said, 'it is no longer a fancy: this time you marry Miss
Chandore.'

"The time for half-measures had passed.

"'Yes,' I replied.

"'Then it is really true,' she said again. 'It is all over now. I
suppose it would be in vain to remind you of those vows of eternal love
which you used to repeat over and over again. Look down there under that
old oak. They are the same trees, this is the same landscape, and I am
still the same woman; but your heart has changed.'

"I made no reply.

"'You love her very much, do you?' she asked me.

"I kept obstinately silent.

"'I understand,' she said, 'I understand you but too well. And
Dionysia? She loves you so much she cannot keep it to herself. She stops
her friends to tell them all about her marriage, and to assure them
of her happiness. Oh, yes, indeed, very happy! That love which was my
disgrace is her honor. I was forced to conceal it like a crime: she can
display it as a virtue. Social forms are, after all, very absurd and
unjust; but a fool is he who tries to defy them.'

"Tears, the very first tears I had ever seen her shed, glittered in her
long silky eyelashes.

"'And to be nothing more to you,--nothing at all! Ah, I was too
cautious! Do you recollect the morning after your uncle's death, when
you, now a rich man, proposed that we should flee? I refused; I clung to
my reputation. I wanted to be respected. I thought it possible to divide
life into two parts,--one to be devoted to pleasure; the other, to the
hypocrisy of duty. Poor fool that I was! And still I discovered long ago
that you were weary of me. I knew you so well! Your heart was like an
open book to me, in which I read your most secret thoughts. Then I might
have retained you. I ought to have been humble, obliging, submissive.
Instead of that, I tried to command.

"'And you,' she said after a short pause,--'are you happy?'

"'I cannot be completely happy as long as I know that you are unhappy.
But there is no sorrow which time does not heal. You will forget'--

"'Never!' she cried.

"And, lowering her voice, she added,--

"'Can I forget you? Alas! my crime is fearful; but the punishment is
still more so.'

"People were coming down the road.

"'Compose yourself,' I said.

"She made an effort to control her emotion. The people passed us,
saluting politely. And after a moment she said again,--

"'Well, and when is the wedding?'

"I tr