“It is too radiant for me to forget it.”

“Whatever it may be, remember it.  Life is so fragile and so ephemeral a thing, that it is beautiful to be able to concentrate it, to sum it up by remembrance, in one hour that marks it and gives it its scope.  Such an hour is this one, which passes while I speak to you with deep sincerity.”

Phillis was not accustomed to these ‘elanas’, for, in the rare effusions to which he sometimes abandoned himself, Saniel always observed a certain reserve, as if he feared to commit himself, and to let her read his whole nature.  Many times he rallied her when she became sentimental, as he said, and “chantait sa romance;” and now he himself sang it—­this romance of love.

Great as was her happiness to listen to him, she could not help feeling an uneasy astonishment, and asked herself under what melancholy impression he found himself at this moment.

He read her too well not to divine this uneasiness.  Not wishing to betray himself, he brought a smile to his eyes, and said: 

“You do not recognize me, do you?  I am sure you are asking yourself if I am not ill.”

“Oh, dearest, do not jest, and do not harden yourself against the sentiment that makes such sweet music on your lips!  I am happy, so happy, to hear you speak thus, that I would like to see your happiness equal to mine; to dissipate the dark cloud that veils your glance.  Will you never abandon yourself?  At this hour, above all, when everything sings and laughs within us as about us!  Nothing was more natural than that you should be sad six months ago; but today what more do you want to make you happy?”

“Nothing, it is true.”

“Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?”

“What will you?  There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; mine is not yours.  But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor of the future; let us talk of the present.”

He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the sofa.

The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an electric shock.

“You will not open the door?” Phillis said.  “Do not let any one take our evening from us.”

But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet.

“It is better to know,” he said, and he went to open the door, leaving Phillis in his office.

A maid handed him a lettter.

“From Madame Dammauville,” she said; “there is an answer.”

He left her in the vestibule, and returned to his office to read the letter.  The dream had not lasted long; reality seized him with its pitiless hands.  This letter, certainly, would announce the blow that menaced him.

“If Dr. Saniel is disengaged, I beg that he will come to see me this
evening on an urgent affair; I will wait for him until ten o’clock. 
If not, I count on seeing him to-morrow morning after nine o’clock.