not do it, I can not wed you without manifest folly. You are younger
than I; and as good and generous as I believe you to be, simple reason
tells me that by so doing I should bring bitter repentance on myself.
But there is yet another reason. I do not belong to myself, I belong to
my daughter, to my family, to my past. In giving up my name for yours I
should wound, I should cruelly afflict, all the friends who surround me,
and, I believe, some who exist no longer. Well, Monsieur," she
continued, with a smile of celestial grace and resignation, "I have
discovered a way by which we yet can avoid breaking off an intimacy so
sweet to both of us--in fact, to make it closer and more dear. My
proposal may surprise you, but have the kindness to think over it,
and do not say no, at once."

She glanced at him, and was terrified at the pallor which overspread his
face. She gently took his hand, and said:

"Have patience!"

"Speak on!" he muttered, hoarsely.

"Monsieur," she continued, with her smile of angelic charity, "God be
praised, you are quite young; in our society men situated as you are do
not marry early, and I think they are right. Well, then, this is what I
wish to do, if you will allow me to tell you. I wish to blend in one
affection the two strongest sentiments of my heart! I wish to
concentrate all my care, all my tenderness, all my joy on forming a wife
worthy of you--a young soul who will make you happy, a cultivated
intellect of which you can be proud. I will promise you, Monsieur, I
will swear to you, to consecrate to you this sweet duty, and to
consecrate to it all that is best in myself. I shall devote to it all my