it not to prefer to all in the
world one certain person?"

"Yes; it is really that."

"Is it not never to weary of seeing that person, or of hearing him? Is
it not to cease to live when he is not there, and to immediately begin
to revive when he reappears?"

"Oh, but this is romantic love."

"Well, that is the love of which I dream, and that is the love which
does not come--not at all till now; and yet that person preferred by me
to all and everything does exist. Do you know who it is?"

"No, I do not know; I do not know, but I have a little suspicion."

"Yes, it is you, my dearest, and it is perhaps you, naughty sister, who
makes me so insensible and cruel on this point. I love you too much; you
fill my heart; you have occupied it entirely; there is no room for any
one else. Prefer any one to you! Love any one more than you! That will
never, never be!"

"Oh, yes, it will."

"Oh, no. Love differently, perhaps, but more--no. He must not count upon
that, this gentleman whom I expect, and who does not arrive."

"Do not be afraid, my Betty, there is room in your heart for all whom
you should love--for your husband, for your children, and that without
your old sister losing anything. The heart is very little, but it is
also very large."

Bettina tenderly embraced her sister; then, resting her head coaxingly
on Susie's shoulder, she said:

"If, however, you are tired of keeping me with you, if you are in a
hurry to get rid of me, do you know what I will do? I will put the names
of two of these gentlemen in a basket, and draw lots. There are two who
at the last extremity would not be absolutely disagreeable."

"Which two?"

"Guess."

"Prince Romanelli."

"For one! And the other?"

"Monsieur de Montessan."

"Those are the two! It is just that. Those two would be acceptable, but
only acceptable, and that is not enough."

This is why Bettina awaited with extreme impatience the day when she
should leave Paris, and take up their abode in Longueval. She was a
little tired of so much pleasure, so much success, so many offers
of marriage. The whirlpool of Parisian gayety had seized her on her
arrival, and would not let her go, not for one hour of halt or rest. She
felt the need of being given up to herself for a few days, to herself
alone, to consult and question herself at her leisure, in the complete
solitude of the country-in a word, to belong to herself again.

Was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous whe