turn to start now.

"I!" said he, "what should I conceal from you?"

"You told me you saw M. d'Argenson yesterday?"

"Well, what then?"

"Well, Gaston," said Helene, turning pale, "you are condemned."

Gaston took a sudden resolution.

"Yes," said he, "I am condemned to exile; and, egotist as I am, I would
bind you to me by indissoluble ties before I leave France."

"Is that the truth, Gaston?"

"Yes; have you the courage to be my wife, Helene? to be exiled with me?"

"Can you ask it, Gaston?" said she, her eyes lighted with enthusiasm,
"exile--I thank thee, my God--I, who would have accepted an eternal
prison with you, and have thought myself blessed--I may accompany,
follow you? Oh, this condemnation is, indeed, a joy after what we
feared! Gaston, Gaston, at length we shall be happy."

"Yes, Helene," said Gaston, with an effort.

"Picture my happiness," cried Helene; "to me France is the country where
you are; your love is the only country I desire. I know I shall have to
teach you to forget Bretagne, your friends, and your dreams of the
future; but I will love you, so that it will be easy for you to forget
them."

Gaston could do nothing but cover her hands with kisses.

"Is the place of your exile fixed?" said she; "tell me, when do you go?
shall we go together?"

"My Helene," replied Gaston, "it is impossible; we must be separated for
a time. I shall be taken to the frontier of France--I do not as yet
know, which--and set free. Once out of the kingdom, you shall rejoin
me."

"Oh, better than that, Gaston--better than that. By means of the duke I
will discover the place of your exile, and instead of joining you there,
I will be there to meet you. As you step from the carriage which brings
you, you shall find me waiting to soften the pain of your adieux to
France; and then, death alone is irretrievable; later, the king may
pardon you; later still, and the action punished to-day may be looked
upon as a deed to be rewarded. Then we will return; then nothing need
keep us from Bretagne, the cradle of our love, the paradise of our
memories. Oh!" continued she, in an accent of mingled love and
impatience, "tell me, Gaston, that you share my hopes, that you are
content, that you are happy."

"Yes, Helene, I now am happy, indeed; for now--and only now--I know by
what an angel I am beloved. Yes, dearest, one hour of such love as
yours, and then death would be better than a whole life with the love of
any