her, and when I see that they are happy together, I will go far away
from them and die in peace."

My sobs choked me; the chevalier pressed his daughter and myself to his
heart, and we mingled our tears, swearing to him that we would never
leave each other, either during his life or after his death.

"Still, do not give up all hope of marrying her," whispered the
chevalier to me a few moments later, when we were somewhat calmer. "She
has strange whims; but nothing will persuade me to believe that she does
not love you. She does not want to explain matters yet. Woman's will is
God's will."

"And Edmee's will is my will," I replied.

A few days after this scene, which brought the calmness of death into
my soul in place of the tumult of life, I was strolling in the park with
the abbe.

"I must tell you," he said, "of an adventure which befell me yesterday.
There is a touch of romance in it. I had been for a walk in the woods of
Briantes, and had made my way down to the spring of Fougeres. It was
as warm, you remember, as in the middle of summer; and our beautiful
plants, in their autumn red, seemed more beautiful than ever as they
stretched their delicate tracery over the stream. The trees have very
little foliage left; but the carpet of dried leaves one walks upon gives
forth a sound which to me is full of charm. The satiny trunks of the
birches and young oaks are covered with moss and creepers of all shades
of brown, and tender green, and red and fawn, which spread out into
delicate stars and rosettes, and maps of all countries, wherein the