had been wounded; the shock to her maidenly modesty, and the shame attendant upon the fact, affected her physically, as if she had been belittled and degraded by a personal stain; and this downfall caused her deep humiliation.  By slow degrees, however, and notwithstanding this state of abject despair, she felt, cropping up somewhere in her heart, a faint germ of gladness, and, by close examination, discovered its origin:  she was now loosed from her obligations toward Claudet, and the prospect of being once more free afforded her immediate consolation.

She had so much regretted, during the last few weeks, the feeling of outraged pride which had incited her to consent to this marriage; her loyal, sincere nature had revolted at the constraint she had imposed upon herself; her nerves had been so severely taxed by having to receive her fiance with sufficient warmth to satisfy his expectations, and yet not afford any encouragement to his demonstrative tendencies, that the certainty of her newly acquired freedom created a sensation of relief and well-being.  But, hardly had she analyzed and acknowledged this sensation when she reproached herself for harboring it when she was about to cause Claudet such affliction.

Poor Claudet! what a cruel blow was in store for him!  He was so guilelessly in love, and had such unbounded confidence in the success of his projects!  Reine was overcome by tender reminiscences.  She had always experienced, as if divining by instinct the natural bonds which united them, a sisterly affection for Claudet.  Since their earliest infancy, at the age when they learned their catechism under the church porch, they had been united in a bond of friendly fellowship.  With Reine, this tender feeling had always remained one of friendship, but, with Claudet, it had ripened into love; and now, after allowing the poor young fellow to believe that his love was reciprocated, she was forced to disabuse him.  It was useless for her to try to find some way of softening the blow; there was none.  Claudet was too much in love to remain satisfied with empty words; he would require solid reasons; and the only conclusive one which would convince him, without wounding his self-love, was exactly the one which the young girl could not give him.  She was, therefore, doomed to send Claudet away with the impression that he had been jilted by a heartless and unprincipled coquette.  And yet something must be done.  The grand chasserot had been too long already in the toils; there was something barbarously cruel in not freeing him from his illusions.

In this troubled state of mind, Reine gazed appealingly at the silent witnesses of her distress.  She heard a voice within her saying to the tall, vaulted ash, “Inspire me!” to the little rose-colored centaurea of the wayside, “Teach me a charm to cure the harm I have done!” But the woods, which in former days had been her advisers and instructors, remained deaf to her invocation.  For the first time, she felt herself isolated and abandoned to her own resources, even in the midst of her beloved forest.