e; pages quite unknown, which
yet contained many deep and striking views, both as regard men and
things, taken from the peculiar standpoint in which fate had placed this
unfortunate creature. The following lines, here and there abruptly
interrupted or stained with tears, according to the current of her
various emotions, on hearing of Agricola's deep love for Angela, formed
the last pages of this journal:

"Friday, March 3d, 1832.

"I spent the night without any painful dreams. This morning, I rose with
no sorrowful presentiment. I was calm and tranquil when Agricola came. He
did not appear to me agitated. He was simple and affectionate as he
always is. He spoke to me of events relating to M. Hardy, and then,
without transition, without hesitation, he said to me: 'The last four
days I have been desperately in love. The sentiment is so serious, that I
think of marriage. I have come to consult you about it.' That was how
this overwhelming revelation was made to me--naturally and cordially--I
on one side of the hearth, and Agricola an the other, as if we had talked
of indifferent things. And yet no more is needed to break one's heart.
Some one enters, embraces you like a brother, sits down, talks--and
then--Oh! Merciful heaven! my head wanders.

"I feel calmer now. Courage, my poor heart, courage!--Should a day of
misfortune again overwhelm me, I will read these lines written under the
impression of the most cruel grief I can ever feel, and I will say to
myself: 'What is the present woe compared to that past?' My grief is
indeed cruel! it is illegitimate, ridiculous, shameful: I should not dare
to confess it, even to the most indulgent of mothers. Alas! there are
some fearful sorrows, which yet rightly make men shrug their shoulders in
pity or contempt. Alas! these are forbidden misfortunes. Agricola has
asked me to go to-morrow, to see this young girl to whom he is so
passionately attached, and whom he will marry, if the instinct of my
heart should approve the marriage. This thought is the most painful of
all those which have tortured me since he so pitilessly announced this
love. Pitilessly? No, Agricola--no, my brother--forgive me this unjust
cry of pain! Is it that you know, can even suspect, that I love you
better than you love, better than you can ever love, this charming
creature?

"'Dark-haired--the figure of a nymph--fair as a lily--with blue eyes--as
large as that--and almost as mild as your own.'

"That is