I loved as a young heart full of faith and tenderness never loved before—­and this love was a mistake; he was a stranger to me—­he did not love me, and I had no excuse for loving him; he is gone, he had a right to go, and I had no right to detain him—­I have not even the right to mourn his absence.  Who is he?  A friend of Madame de Meilhan, and a stranger to me!...  He a stranger!... to me!...  No, no, he loves me, I know he does ... but why did he not tell me so!  Has some one come between us?  Perhaps a suspicion separates us....  Oh! he may think I am in love with Edgar! horrible idea! the thought kills me....  I will write to him; would you not advise it?  What shall I tell him?  If he were to know who I am, doubtless his prejudices against me would be removed.  Oh!  I will return to Paris—­then he will see that I do not love Edgar, since I leave him never to return where he is.  Yet he could not have been mistaken concerning the feelings existing between his friend and myself; he must have seen that I was perfectly free:  independence cannot be assumed.  If he thought me in love with another, why did he come to bid me good-bye? why did he come alone to see me? and why did he not allude to my approaching return to Paris?—­why did he not say he would be glad to meet me again?  How pale and sad he was! and yet he uttered not one word of regret—­of distant hope!  The servant said:  “Monsieur de Villiers wishes to see madame, shall I send him away as I did Monsieur de Meilhan?” I was in the garden and advanced to meet him.  He said:  “I return to Paris to-morrow, madame, and have come to see if you have any commands, and to bid you good-bye.”

Two long days had passed since I last saw him, and this unexpected visit startled me so that I was afraid to trust my voice to speak.  “They will miss you very much at Richeport,” he added, “and Madame de Meilhan hopes daily to see you return.”  I hastily said:  “I cannot return to her house, I am going away from here very soon.”  He did not ask where, but gazed at me in a strange, almost suspicious way, and to change the conversation, said:  “We had at Richeport, after you left, a charming man, who is celebrated for his wit and for being a great traveller—­the Prince de Monbert.” ...  He spoke as if on an indifferent subject, and Heaven knows he was right, for Roger at this moment interested me very, very little.  I waited for a word of the future, a ray of hope to brighten my life, another of those tender glances that thrilled my soul with joy ... but he avoided all allusion to our past intercourse; he shunned my looks as carefully as he had formerly sought them....  I was alarmed....  I no longer understood him....  I looked around to see if we were not watched, so changed was his manner, so cold and formal was his speech....  Strange!  I was alone with him, but he was not alone with me; there was a third person between us, invisible to me, but to him visible, dictating his words and inspiring his conduct.