"Remember what I once told you," he repeated. "There are many ways of
being a sorcerer, and one may read the future without being a servant
of the devil. For my part, I give my consent to your marriage with your
cousin. Continue to behave decently. You are a wise man now, and can
read fluently from any book set before you. What more do you want? There
are so many books here that the sweat runs from my brow at the very
sight of them; it seems as if I were again starting the old torment of
not being able to learn to read. But you have soon cured yourself. If M.
Hubert were willing to take my advice, he would fix the wedding for the
next Martinmas."

"That is enough, Patience!" I said. "This is a painful subject with me;
my cousin does not love me."

"I tell you she does. You lie in your throat, as the nobles say. I know
well enough how she nursed you; and Marcasse from the housetop happened
to look through her window and saw her on her knees in the middle of the
room at five o'clock in the morning the day that you were so ill."

These imprudent assertions of Patience, Edmee's tender cares, the
departure of M. de la Marche, and, more than anything else, the weakness
of my brain, enabled me to believe what I wished; but in proportion as
I regained my strength Edmee withdrew further and further within the
bounds of calm and discreet friendship. Never did man recover his
health with less pleasure than I mine; for each day made Edmee's visits
shorter; and when I was able to leave my room I had merely a few hours a
day near her, as before my illness. With marvellous skill she had given
me proof of the tenderest affection without ever allowing herself to be
drawn into a fresh explanation concerning our mysterious betrothal. If I