felt in five years. Raoul thought all his toils well-paid. They both
walked forward they scarcely knew where, but it was on the road to
Auteuil; presently, however, they were forced to return and find their
carriages, pacing together with the rhythmic step well-known to
lovers. Raoul had faith in that kiss given with the quiet facility of
a sacred sentiment. All the evil of it was in the mind of the world,
not in that of the woman who walked beside him. Marie herself, given
over to the grateful admiration which characterizes the love of woman,
walked with a firm, light step on the gravelled path, saying, like
Raoul, but few words; yet those few were felt and full of meaning. The
sky was cloudless, the tall trees had burgeoned, a few green shoots
were already brightening their myriad of brown twigs. The shrubs, the
birches, the willows, the poplars were showing their first diaphanous
and tender foliage. No soul resists these harmonies. Love explained
Nature as it had already explained society to Marie's heart.

"I wish you have never loved any one but me," she said.

"Your wish is realized," replied Raoul. "We have awakened in each
other the only true love."

He spoke the truth as he felt it. Posing before this innocent young
heart as a pure man, Raoul was caught himself by his own fine
sentiments. At first purely speculative and born of vanity, his love
had now become sincere. He began by lying, he had ended in speaking
truth. In all writers there is ever a sentiment, difficult to stifle,
which impels them to admire the highest good. The countess, on her
part, after her first rush of gratitude and surprise, was charmed to
have inspired such sacrifices, to have caused him to surmount such
difficulties. She was beloved by a man who was worthy of her! Raoul