“I entreat you, dearest, to foresee nothing, and to calm yourself.  Let us avail ourselves of all our reason in order to prove ourselves superior to circumstances, whatever they may be.  I cannot answer this letter, but you must write to M. d’Antoine to call here tomorrow and to send up his name.”

“Alas! you compel me to perform a painful task.”

“You are my best, my only friend; I demand nothing, I impose no task upon you, but can you refuse me?”

“No, never, no matter what you ask.  Dispose of me, I am yours in life and death.”

“I knew what you would answer.  You must be with me when M. d’Antoine calls, but after a few minutes given to etiquette, will you find some pretext to go to your room, and leave us alone?  M. d’Antoine knows all my history; he knows in what I have done wrong, in what I have been right; as a man of honour, as my relative, he must shelter me from all affront.  He shall not do anything against my will, and if he attempts to deviate from the conditions I will dictate to him, I will refuse to go to France, I will follow you anywhere, and devote to you the remainder of my life.  Yet, my darling, recollect that some fatal circumstances may compel us to consider our separation as the wisest course to adopt, that we must husband all our courage to adopt it, if necessary, and to endeavour not to be too unhappy.

“Have confidence in me, and be quite certain that I shall take care to reserve for myself the small portion of happiness which I can be allowed to enjoy without the man who alone has won all my devoted love.  You will have, I trust, and I expect it from your generous soul, the same care of your future, and I feel certain that you must succeed.  In the mean time, let us drive away all the sad forebodings which might darken the hours we have yet before us.”

“Ah! why did we not go away immediately after we had met that accursed favourite of the Infante!”

“We might have made matters much worse; for in that case M. d’Antoine might have made up his mind to give my family a proof of his zeal by instituting a search to discover our place of residence, and I should then have been exposed to violent proceedings which you would not have endured.  It would have been fatal to both of us.”

I did everything she asked me.  From that moment our love became sad, and sadness is a disease which gives the death-blow to affection.  We would often remain a whole hour opposite each other without exchanging a single word, and our sighs would be heard whatever we did to hush them.

The next day, when M. d’Antoine called, I followed exactly the instructions she had given me, and for six mortal hours I remained alone, pretending to write.

The door of my room was open, and a large looking-glass allowed us to see each other.  They spent those six hours in writing, occasionally stopping to talk of I do not know what, but their conversation was evidently a decisive one.  The reader can easily realize how much I suffered during that long torture, for I could expect nothing but the total wreck of my happiness.