"And Rosalie?"

"Rosalie would forget. To remember, youth must see and touch and be
near, else it wears itself out in excess of feeling. Youth feels more
deeply than age, but it must bear daily witness."

"Upon my honour, Cure, you shall write your little philosophies for the
world," said M. Rossignol, and then knocked at the door.

"I will go in alone, Maurice," the Cure urged. "Good-you are right,"
answered the other. "I will go write the proclamation denying strangers
the valley after Wednesday. I will enforce it, too," he added, with
vigour, and, turning, walked up the street, as Mrs. Flynn admitted the
Cure to the post-office.

A half-hour later M. Loisel again appeared at the post-office door, a
pale, beautiful face at his shoulder.

He had not been brave enough to say what was on his mind. But as he bade
her good-bye, he plucked up needful courage.

"Forgive me, Rosalie," he said, "but I have sometimes thought that you
have more griefs than one. I have thought"--he paused, then went on
bravely--"that there might be--there might be unwelcomed love, or love
deceived."

A mist came before her eyes, but she quietly and firmly answered: "I have
never been deceived in love, Monsieur Loisel."