“Shall you remain long in Paris?” I asked, trembling and dismayed.  “I am not decided at present, madame,” he replied.  Irritated by this mystery, I was tempted for a moment to say:  “I hope, if you remain in Paris for any length of time, I shall have the pleasure of seeing you at my cousin’s, the Duchess de Langeac,” and then I thought of telling him my story.  I was tired of playing the role of adventuress before him ... but he seemed so preoccupied, and inattentive to what I said, he so coldly received my affectionate overtures, that I had not the courage to confide in him.  Would not my confidence be met with indifference?  One thing consoled me—­his sadness; and then he had come, not on my account, but on his own; nothing obliged him to make this visit; it could only have been inspired by a wish to see me.  While he remained near me, in spite of his strange indifference, I had hope; I believed that in his farewell there would be one kind word upon which I could live till we should meet again ...  I was mistaken ... he bowed and left me ... left me without a word ...!  Then I felt that all was lost, and bursting into tears sobbed like a child.  Suddenly the servant opened the door and said:  “The gentleman forgot Madame de Meilhan’s letters.”  At that moment he entered the room and took from the table a packet of letters that the servant had given him when he first came, but which he had forgotten when leaving.  At the sight of my tears he stood still with an agitated, alarmed look upon his face; he then gazed at me with a singular expression of cruel joy sparkling in his eyes.  I thought he had come back to say something to me, but he abruptly left the room.  I heard the door shut, and knew it had shut off my hopes of happiness.

The next day, at the risk of meeting Edgar with him, I remained all day on the road that runs along the Seine.  I hoped he would go that way.  I also hoped he would come once more to see me ... to bring him back I relied upon my tears—­upon those tears shed for him, and which he must have understood ... he came not!  Three days have passed since he left, and I spend all my time in recalling this last interview, what he said to me, his tone of voice, his look....  One minute I find an explanation for everything, my faith revives ... he loves me! he is waiting for something to happen, he wishes to take some step, he fears some obstacle, he waits to clear up some doubts ... a generous scruple restrains him....  The next minute the dreadful truth stares me in the face.  I say to myself:  “He is a young man full of imagination, of romantic ideas ... we met, I pleased him, he would have loved me had I belonged to his station in life; but everything separates us; he will forget me.” ...  Then, revolting against a fate that I can successfully resist, I exclaim:  “I will see him again ...  I am young, free, and beautiful—­I must be beautiful, for he told me so—­I have an income of a hundred thousand pounds....  With all these blessings