"Really, chevalier, I am curious to know where you will stop. Suns, I own, please me; gods also." Croustillac continued with a languorous softness: "Ah! if gods, would they work me ill? If the heavens, would add more sorrow still? Two suns? 'tis false--that orb is one----" "Ah, heavens, chevalier, you delight me; among all these charming comparisons there remains nothing more for me but lightening----" Croustillac bowed his head: "Stars! no, the stars are too many, too clear, Always my meaning shineth still, Eyes, gods, suns, and stars appear." "How charming; at least, chevalier," said Angela, laughing, "you have given me a choice of comparisons, and I have but to select; therefore I shall keep them all--gods, heavens, suns and stars." The adventurer looked at Blue Beard a moment in silence; then he said, in a tone the sadness of which was so sincere that the little widow was struck by it, "You are right, madame; this sonnet is absurd; you do well to mock at it, but what would you have? I am unhappy, I am justly punished for my mad presumption, my stupidity." "Ah, chevalier, chevalier, you forget my request; I told you to divert me, to amuse me----" "And if, in so doing, I suffer? if, in spite of my absurd situation, I experience a cruel mortification; how can I play the buffoon?" The adventurer uttered these words quietly but in a penetrating tone, and with considerable emotion. Angela looked at him in astonishment, and was almost touched by the expression of the chevalier's face. She reproached herself for having played with this man's feelings; after all, he lacked neither heart, courage nor goodness; these reflections plunged the young woman into the midst of melancholy thoughts. In spite of the passing effort which she had made to be gay and to laugh at the sonnet of the Gascon, she was a prey to inexplicable forebodings, oppressed by vague fears, as if she felt instinctively the dangers that were gathering about her. Croustillac had fallen into a sad reverie. Angela's eyes fell upon him and she felt sorry for him; she would no longer prolong the mystery of which he was a victim. She rose abruptly from the table and said to him, with a serious air, "Come, we will walk in the garden and rejoin Youmaeale. His absence worries me. I do not know why, but I am oppressed as if a violent tempest were about to break upon this house." The widow left the room, the chevalier offered her his arm, and they descended into the garden, where they sauntered through the different paths. The adventurer was so impressed by the anxious frame of mind in which he saw Angela that he retained little hope, and hardly dared to recall to her the promise which she had made him. Finally he said with some embarrassment, "You promised me, madame, to explain the mystery of----"