t wish such a beautiful life to continue; His will be done. There
are days when the ruin of all my hopes seems to me so inevitable that
I look upon myself as dead and my _fiance_ as a widower. If it were not
for my poor father, I should really laugh at it all; for I am so ill
built for vexation and fears that during the short time I have known
them they have already tired me of life."

"This courage is heroic, but it is also terrible," cried the abbe, in a
broken voice. "It is almost a resolve to commit suicide, Edmee."

"Oh, I shall fight for my life," she answered, with warmth; "but I shall
not stand haggling with it a moment if my honour does not come forth
safe and sound from all these risks. No; I am not pious enough ever to
accept a soiled life by way of penance for sins of which I never had a
thought. If God deals so harshly with me that I have to choose between
shame and death . . ."

"There can never be any shame for you, Edmee; a soul so chaste, so pure
in intention . . ."

"Oh, don't talk of that, dear abbe! Perhaps I am not as good as you
think; I am not very orthodox in religion--nor are you, abbe! I give
little heed to the world; I have no love for it. I neither fear nor
despise public opinion; it will never enter into my life. I am not very
sure what principle of virtue would be strong enough to prevent me from
falling, if the spirit of evil took me in hand. I have read _La Nouvelle
Heloise_, and I shed many tears over it. But, because I am a Mauprat and
have an unbending pride, I will never endure the tyranny of any man--the
violence of a lover no more than a husband's blow; only a servile soul
and a craven character may yield to force that which it refuses to
entreaty. Sainte Solange, the beautiful shepherdess, let her head be cut
off rather than submit to the seigneur's rights. And you know that from
mother to daughter the Mauprats have been consecrated in baptism to the
protection of the patron saint of Berry."

"Yes; I know that you are proud and resolute," said the abbe, "and
because I respect you more than any woman in the world I want you to
live, and be free, and make a marriage worthy of you, so that in the
human family you may fill the part which beautiful souls still know how
to make noble. Besides, you are necessary to your father; your death
would hurry him to his grave, hearty and robust as the Mauprat still is.
Put away these gloomy thoughts, then, and these violent resolutions. It
is