ought. The tone of his regret was so sincere, his humility so gentle
and full of simplicity, that Adrienne, also moved to tears, answered him
with an effusion of serious tenderness, "My friend, we are both at the
supreme point of happiness. Our future felicity appears to have no
limits, and yet, though derived from different sources, sad reflections
have come to both of us. It is, you see, that there are some sorts of
happiness, which make you dizzy with their own immensity. For a moment,
the heart, the mind, the soul, are incapable of containing so much bliss;
it overflows and drowns us. Thus the flowers sometimes hang their heads,
oppressed by the too ardent rays of the sun, which is yet their love and
life. Oh, my friend! this sadness may be great, but it also sweet!"

As she uttered these words, the voice of Adrienne grew fainter and
fainter, and her head bowed lower, as if she were indeed sinking beneath
the weight of her happiness. Djalma had remained kneeling before her, his
hands in hers--so that as she thus bent forward, her ivory forehead and
golden hair touched the amber-colored brow and ebon curls of Djalma. And
the sweet, silent tears of the two young lovers flowed together, and
mingled as they fell on their clasped hands.

Whilst this scene was passing in Cardoville House, Agricola had gone to
the Rue de Vaugirard, to deliver a letter from Adrienne to M. Hardy.

CHAPTER XLII.

"THE IMITATION."

As we have already said, M. Hardy occupied a pavilion in the "Retreat"
annexed to the house in the Rue de Vaugirard, inhabited by a goodly
number of the reverend fathers of the Company of Jesus. Nothing could be
calmer and more silent than this dwelling. Every one spoke in whispers,
and the servants themselves had something oily in their words, something
sanctified in their very walk.

Like all that is subject to the chilling and destructive influences of
these men, this mournfully quiet house was entirely wanting in life and
animation. The boarders passed an existence of wearisome and icy
monotony, only broken by the use of certain devotional exercises; and
thus, in accordance with the selfish calculation of the reverend fathers,
the mind, deprived of all nourishment and all external support, soon
began to droop and pine away in solitude. The heart seemed to beat more
slowly, the soul was benumbed, the character weakened; at last, all
freewill, all power of discrimination, was extinguished, and the
boar