M. Bernard may happen to drink one of these evenings; of some change
meeting, or some exchange of looks between De la Marche and myself that
he may fancy he has detected; a breath of air perhaps! What is to be
done? Were I to grieve, would my tears wash away the past? We cannot
tear out a single page of our lives; but we can throw the book into
the fire. Though I should weep from night till morn, would that prevent
Destiny from having, in a fit of ill-humour, taken me out hunting, sent
me astray in the woods, and made me stumble across a Mauprat, who led me
to his den, where I escaped dishonour and perhaps death only by binding
my life forever to that of a savage who had none of my principles, and
who probably (and who undoubtedly, I should say) never will have them?
All this is a misfortune. I was in the full sunlight of a happy destiny;
I was the pride and joy of my old father; I was about to marry a man
I esteem and like; no sorrows, no fears had come near my path; I knew
neither days fraught with danger nor nights bereft of sleep. Well, God
did not wish such a beautiful life to continue; His will be done. There
are days when the ruin of all my hopes seems to me so inevitable that
I look upon myself as dead and my _fiance_ as a widower. If it were not
for my poor father, I should really laugh at it all; for I am so ill
built for vexation and fears that during the short time I have known
them they have already tired me of life."

"This courage is heroic, but it is also terrible," cried the abbe, in a
broken voice. "It is almost a resolve to commit suicide, Edmee."

"Oh, I shall fight for my life," she answered, with warmth; "but I shall
not stand haggling with it a moment if my honour does not come forth
safe and sound from all these risks. No; I am not pious enough ever to
accept a soiled life by way of penance for sins of which I never had a
thought. If God deals so harshly with me that I have to choose between