d my heart has
not changed toward you. The love which I now feel is quite different. If
it had not come to me, I might have been your wife. And I esteemed you so
much, that I should have been happy. But now I understand the difference.
You, whom I had accepted, would never have been more to me than a tender
companion; he whom I have chosen will be my master."

Pierre uttered a cry at this cruel and frank avowal.

"Ah! how you hurt me!"

And bitter tears rolled down his face to the relief of his overburdened
heart. He sank on to a seat, and for a moment gave way to violent grief.
Micheline, more touched by his despair than she had been by his
reproaches, went to him and wiped his face with her lace handkerchief.
Her white hand was close to the young man's mouth,--and he kissed it
eagerly. Then, as if roused by the action, he rose with a changed look in
his eyes, and seized the young girl in his arms. Micheline did not utter
a word. She looked coldly and resolutely at Pierre, and threw back her
head to avoid the contact of his eager lips. That look was enough. The
arms which held her were unloosed, and Pierre moved away, murmuring:

"I beg your pardon. You see I am not in my right mind."

Then passing his hand across his forehead as if to chase away a wicked
thought, he added:

"So it is irrevocable? You love him?"

"Enough to give you so much pain; enough to be nobody's unless I belong
to him."

Pierre reflected a moment, then, coming to a decision:

"Go, you are free," said he; "I give you back your promise."

Micheline uttered a cry of triumph, which made him who had been her
betrothed turn pale. She regretted not having hidden her joy better. She
approached Pierre and said:

"Tell me that you forgive me!"

"I forgive you."

"You still weep?"

"Yes; I am weeping over my lost happiness. I thought the best means of
being loved were to deserve it. I was mistaken. I will courageously atone
for my error. Excuse my weakness, and believe that you will never have a
more faithful and devoted friend than I."

Micheline gave him her hand, and, smiling, bowed her forehead to his
lips. He slowly impressed a brotherly kiss, which effaced the burning
trace of the one which he had stolen a moment before.

At the same time a deep voice was heard in the distance, calling Pierre.
Micheline trembled.

"'Tis my mother," she said. "She is seeking you. I will leave you. Adieu,
and a thousand thanks from my very heart."