Oh! torture! in this one instant of dread, all the arrows of jealousy rankled in my heart.  Oh!  I could not be indignant this time, I could not complain, I could only die....  And I think that if I had not seen the pure joy beaming in his eyes, lighting up his noble countenance; if I had not instantly divined, comprehended everything, I believe I would have dashed myself from the window to escape the strange agony that made my heart cold and my brain dizzy—­agony that I could not and would not endure.  But he looked too happy to be culpable; he made a sign, and I saw that he was coming over to see me.  I waited for him—­and in what a state!  My hair was disarranged, and I called Blanchard to assist me in brushing it; my voice was so weak she came running to me frightened, thinking me ill ... a thousand confused thoughts rushed through my brain; one thing was clear:  I had found him again, I was about to see him!

When I was dressed—­oh! that morning little did I think I would need a becoming dress, ...  I sat on the sofa in my poor little parlor, and there, pale with emotion, scarcely daring to breathe, I listened with burning impatience to the different noises about the house.  In a few moments I heard a knock, the door open, a voice exclaim, “You, Monsieur le Comte!” He did not wait to be announced, but came in at once to the parlor where I was.  He was so joyous at finding me, and I so delighted at seeing him, that for the first blissful moments of our meeting neither of us thought explanations necessary; his joy proved that he was free to love me, and my manner showed that I might be everything to him.  When he found his voice, he said to me:  “What! were you this cherished star that I have loved for two years?”

Then I remembered my momentary fears, and said:  “What! were you the mysterious beacon?  Why were you living there?  Why did the Comte de Villiers dwell in a garret?”

Then, dear Valentine, he told me his noble history; he confessed, rather unwillingly, that he had been poor like myself; very poor, because he had given all his fortune to save the honor of a friend, M. Frederick de B——­ Oh! how I wept, while listening to this touching story, so full of sublime simplicity, generous carelessness and self-sacrifice!  This would have made me adore him if I had not already madly loved him.  While he was telling me, I was thinking of the unfortunate Frederick’s wife, of her anxiety, of the torture she suffered, as a wife and a mother, when she believed her husband lost and her children ruined; of her astonishment and wild joy when she saw them all saved; of her deep, eternal gratitude! and I had but one thought, I said to myself:  “How I would like to talk with this woman of Raymond!”

I wished in turn to relate my own history; he refused to listen to me, and I did not insist.  I wished to be generous, and let him for some time longer believe me to be poor and miserable.  He was so happy at the idea of enriching and ennobling me, that I had not the courage to disenchant him.