but I must confess that I prefer your charming conversation to your delightful reading.  Do you know, I would not have believed it possible to gain so much, in losing all hope of what I desired more ardently than I had ever done anything in my whole life before.  The brother is very much more kindly treated than the suitor—­are you aware of that?  You are as sweet and amiable to the one as you were severe and unapproachable to the other.  I find in this calm, peaceful affection, charms that I had never dreamed of, and you reveal to me a new side of the feminine character, hitherto utterly unknown to me.  Carried away by fiery passions, and irritated to madness by any opposition, I was like the wild huntsman of the ancient legend, who stopped for no obstacle, but rode recklessly over everything in his path.  I looked upon whatever beautiful woman I was in pursuit of as my legitimate prey.  I scouted the very idea of failure, and deemed myself irresistible.  At the mention of virtue, I only shrugged my shoulders, and I think I may say, without too much conceit, to the only woman I ever pursued who did not yield to me, that I had reason not to put much faith in it.  My mother died when I was a mere baby; you, my sweet sister, were not near me, and I have never known, until now, all the purity, tenderness, and sublime courage of which your sex is capable.  I chanced to see you.  An irresistible attraction, in which, perhaps, the unknown tie of blood had its influence, drew me to you, and for the first time in my life a feeling of respect and esteem mingled with my passion.  Your character delighted me, even when you drove me to despair.  I could not but secretly approve and admire the modest and courteous firmness with which you rejected my homage.  The more decidedly you repulsed me, the more I felt that you were worthy of my adoration.  Anger and admiration succeeded each other in my heart, and even in my most violent paroxysms of rage I always respected you.  I descried the angel in the woman, and bowed to the ascendency of a celestial purity.  Now I am happy and blessed indeed; for I have in you precisely what I needed, without knowing it—­this pure affection, free from all earthly taint—­unalterable—­eternal.  I possess at last the love of a soul.”

“Yes, my dear brother, it is yours,” Isabelle replied; “and it is a great source of happiness to me that I am able to assure you of it.  You have in me a devoted sister and friend, who will love you doubly to make up for the years we have lost—­above all, now that you have promised me to correct the faults that have so grieved and alarmed our dear father, and to exhibit only the good qualities of which you have plenty.”

“Oh! you little preacher,” cried Vallombreuse, with a bright, admiring smile; “how you take advantage of my weakness.  However, it is perfectly true that I have been a dreadful monster, but I really do mean to do better in future—­if not for love of virtue itself, at least to avoid seeing my charming sister put on a severe, disapproving air, at some atrocious escapade of mine.  Still, I fear that I shall always be Folly, as you will be Reason.”