have, I trust, and I expect it from your generous soul, the same care of
your future, and I feel certain that you must succeed. In the mean time,
let us drive away all the sad forebodings which might darken the hours we
have yet before us."

"Ah! why did we not go away immediately after we had met that accursed
favourite of the Infante!"

"We might have made matters much worse; for in that case M. d'Antoine
might have made up his mind to give my family a proof of his zeal by
instituting a search to discover our place of residence, and I should
then have been exposed to violent proceedings which you would not have
endured. It would have been fatal to both of us."

I did everything she asked me. From that moment our love became sad, and
sadness is a disease which gives the death-blow to affection. We would
often remain a whole hour opposite each other without exchanging a single
word, and our sighs would be heard whatever we did to hush them.

The next day, when M. d'Antoine called, I followed exactly the
instructions she had given me, and for six mortal hours I remained alone,
pretending to write.

The door of my room was open, and a large looking-glass allowed us to see
each other. They spent those six hours in writing, occasionally stopping
to talk of I do not know what, but their conversation was evidently a
decisive one. The reader can easily realize how much I suffered during
that long torture, for I could expect nothing but the total wreck of my
happiness.