I preferred to apply to Madame de Meilhan.  On our return to the chateau I questioned her, and learned that my beautiful unknown was named Madame Louise Guerin.  At that word “Madame” my heart contracted.  Wherefore?  I could not tell.  Afterwards I learned that she was a widow and poor, that she lived by the labor of those pretty fingers which I had seen dabbling in the water.  Further than that, Madame de Meilhan knew nothing, her remarks were confined to indulgent suppositions and benevolent comments.  A woman so young, so beautiful, so poor, working for her livelihood, must be a noble and pure creature.  I felt for her a respectful pity, which her appearance in the drawing-room in all the magnificence of her beauty, grace and youth, changed into extravagant admiration.  Our eyes met as if we had a secret between us; she appeared, and I yielded to the charm of her presence.  Edgar observed that she was his mother’s companion, who would remain with her until he married.  The wretch! if he had not written such fine verses, I would have strangled him on the spot.  I sat opposite her at dinner, and could observe her at my ease.  She appeared like a young queen at the board of one of her great vassals.  Grave and smiling, she spoke little, but so to the point, and in so sweet a voice, that I cherished in my heart every word that fell from her lips, like pearls from a casket.  I also was silent and was astonished, that when she did not speak, any one should dare to open his lips before her.  Edgar’s witty sallies seemed to be in the worst possible taste, and twenty times I was on the point of saying to him:  “Edgar, do you not see that the queen is listening to you?”

At dessert, as the general was preparing to manoeuvre the artillery of the siege, every one rose precipitately, to escape the capture and pillage of Lubeck.  Edgar rushed into the park, the guests dispersed; and while Madame de Meilhan, bearing with heroic resignation the inconveniences attached to her dignity as mistress of the house, fought by the general’s side like Clorinde by the side of Argant, I found myself alone, with the young widow, upon the terrace of the chateau.  We talked, and a powerful enchantment compelled me to surrender my soul into her keeping.  I amazed myself by confiding to her what I had never told myself.

My most cherished and hidden feelings were drawn irresistibly forth from the inmost recesses of my bosom.  When I spoke, I seemed to translate her thoughts; when she in turn replied, she paraphrased mine.  In less than an hour I learned to know her.  She possessed, at the same time, an experimental mind, which could descend to the root of things, and a tender and inexperienced heart which life had never troubled.  Theoretically she was governed by a lofty and precocious reason ripened by misfortune; practically, she was swayed by the dictates of an innocent and untried soul.  Until now, she has lived only in the activity of her thoughts; the rest of her being sleeps, seeks