and
M. de Vermondans returned with Ebba and Ireneus. As he placed his foot on
the threshold of the door where he had hitherto always been welcomed by
his smiling daughter, he was attacked by a sadness which he could not
overcome, and went to his room to weep.

Ebba also was sad, for though her character was very different from
Alete's, she loved her sister dearly, and was most unhappy at the idea of
a separation.

Ireneus sought to console her.

"I thank you," said the young girl, "for your kind expressions. I am not
unhappy only on my own account at this separation. My father will never
be able to use himself to it. Alete was always happy. Joy left our
household with her. I wish I could replace her. Do however what I may, I
never shall succeed. You and all who know me, are aware that my nature is
of altogether a different character. I am melancholy."

"Gentle, Ebba, gentle," said Ireneus.

"Gentle perhaps, and surely inoffensive, but I repeat melancholy. Why
does this sadness continue? Alas, it is the law of God. Do not look at
me, I beg you, as on one of those women whom I have seen and of whom I
have read, who create imaginary misfortunes for themselves, and deck
themselves with ideal suffering and melancholy. I have neither sorrow nor
passionate regrets and I do not know the meaning of deception.

"My life has passed without storms, but without noise, like the spring
which bubbles from the hill. Father and mother have sought to make me
happy, and no untimely event has interrupted the course of my life.
Melancholy, however, I was born, and will die. That is all.

"Listen to me," added she, fixing on Ireneus a look impressed with
strange grief and affection. "Heaven which denied me a brother seemed to
supply its neglect in yourself. The attachment you evince toward me
appeals to my heart, and I will make you a confession.

"When I say nothing has troubled my thoughts, I do not say all. There is
one impression which to me has been an event, a circumstance, the
influence of which I cannot speak of. I wish, however, to ask you, if you
believe in presentiments?"

"What a question!" replied Ireneus, "no one ever addressed me thus
before, and I do not know what to say."

"You do not"--said Ebba, with as much evidence of surprise, as if she had
said you do not believe in the sun or moon. "I do, and I think this
matter plain and evident as the existence of God, to whom we are indebted
for all our faculties. God e