“The space enclosed within the four walls of your garden is the only spot in the world where I live; you are the only human being who has made me love God.  I had renounced everything before I knew you; why deprive me of the only ray of light that Providence has spared me?  If it is on account of fear, what have I done to inspire it?  If it is on account of dislike, in what respect am I culpable?  If it is on account of pity and because I suffer, you are mistaken in supposing that I can cure myself; it might have been done, perhaps, two months ago; but I preferred to see you and to suffer, and I do not repent, whatever may come of it.  The only misfortune that can reach me is to lose you.  Put me to the proof.  If I ever feel that there is too much suffering for me in our bargain I will go away; and you may be sure of it, since you send me away to-day, and I am ready to go.  What risk do you run in giving me a month or two of the only happiness I shall ever know?”

I waited her reply.  She suddenly rose from her seat, and then sat down again.  Then a moment of silence ensued.

“Rest assured,” she said, “it is not so.”

I thought she was searching for words that would not appear too severe, and that she was anxious to avoid hurting me.

“One word,” I said, rising, “one word, nothing more.  I know who you are and if there is any compassion for me in your heart, I thank you; speak but one word, this moment decides my life.”

She shook her head; I saw that she was hesitating.

“You think I can be cured?” I cried.  “May God grant you that solace if you send me away—­”

I looked out of the window at the horizon, and felt in my soul such a frightful sensation of loneliness at the idea of going away that my blood froze in my veins.  She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixed on her, awaiting her reply; all my life was hanging in suspense upon her lips.

“Very well,” she said, “listen to me.  This move of yours in coming to see me was an act of great imprudence; however, it is not necessary to assume that you have come here to see me; accept a commission that I will give you for a friend of my family.  If you find that it is a little far, let it be the occasion of an absence which shall last as long as you choose, but which must not be too short.  Although you said a moment ago,” she added with a smile, “that a short trip would calm you.  You will stop in the Vosges and you will go as far as Strasburg.  Then in a month, or, better, in two months, you will return and report to me; I will see you again and give you further instructions.”

CHAPTER VI

THE RUGGED PATH OF LOVE