"If by love," she replied in a serious tone, "you mean a feeling of
trust and friendship, I love M. de la Marche; but if you mean a feeling
of compassion and solicitude, I love Bernard. It remains to be seen
which of these two affections is the deeper. That is your concern, abbe.
For my part, it troubles me but little; for I feel that there is only
one being whom I love with passion, and that is my father; and only one
thing that I love with enthusiasm, and that is my duty. Probably I shall
regret the attentions and devotion of the lieutenant-general, and I
shall share in the grief that I must soon cause him when I announce that
I can never be his wife. This necessity, however, will by no means drive
me to desperation, because I know that M. de la Marche will quickly
recover. . . . I am not joking, abbe; M. de la Marche is a man of no
depth, and somewhat cold."

"If your love for him is no greater than this, so much the better. It
makes one trial less among your many trials. Still, this indifference
robs me of my last hope of seeing you rescued from Bernard Mauprat."

"Do not let this grieve you. Either Bernard will yield to friendship and
loyalty and improve, or I shall escape him."

"But how?"

"By the gate of the convent--or of the graveyard."

As she uttered these words in a calm tone, Edmee shook back her long
black hair, which had fallen over her shoulders and partly over her pale
face.

"Come," she said, "God will help us. It is folly and impiety to doubt