but one name bestowed on me, Honorine, as I had but one heart. My
husband had the young girl, a worthless lover had the woman--there is
nothing left!--Then let myself be loved! that is the great idea you
mean to utter to me. Oh! but I still am something, and I rebel at the
idea of being a prostitute! Yes, by the light of the conflagration I
saw clearly; and I tell you--well, I could imagine surrendering to
another man's love, but to Octave's?--No, never.'

"'Ah! you love him,' I said.

"'I esteem him, respect him, venerate him; he never has done me the
smallest hurt; he is kind, he is tender; but I can never more love
him. However,' she went on, 'let us talk no more of this. Discussion
makes everything small. I will express my notions on this subject in
writing to you, for at this moment they are suffocating me; I am
feverish, my feet are standing in the ashes of my Paraclete. All that
I see, these things which I believed I had earned by my labor, now
remind me of everything I wish to forget. Ah! I must fly from hence as
I fled from my home.'

"'Where will you go?' I asked. 'Can a woman exist unprotected? At
thirty, in all the glory of your beauty, rich in powers of which you
have no suspicion, full of tenderness to be bestowed, are you prepared
to live in the wilderness where I could hide you?--Be quite easy. The
Count, who for nine years has never allowed himself to be seen here,
will never go there without your permission. You have his sublime
devotion of nine years as a guarantee for your tranquillity. You may
therefore discuss the future in perfect confidence with my uncle and
me. My uncle has as much influence as a Minister of State. So compose
yourself; do not exaggerate your misfortune. A priest whose hair has