Marguerite again wept silently. She continued, after a pause: "Now you can understand my disdain for every one and everything. Soured by my trouble, I became irritable and capricious, and as no one understood the cause, I was called fantastic. The people that surrounded me seemed vulgar when compared to the one whose souvenir shall always be sacred; and so they said I was scornful or deceitful. The useless coquetry that I was reproached with, and to which they assigned the worst motives, was but another tribute to his memory. I wore these beautiful clothes because he loved to see me wear them. All these beautiful surroundings, these flowers, this half-light in which he used to veil my features, alas! they were all so many precious souvenirs. Finally, those scientific smatterings that people chose to call pretentious were only sad reflections of past days, for, being a savant himself, he loved to talk to me of his various attainments. "What more can I say, my friend? Living alone, the manner of my living seems too ostentatious, and so I am called haughty and vain, and yet it is because this house was his home that I keep it up as he did. Now you know the secret of my life. Before I met you I cared very little whether the world approved of me or not. I was called a vain, extravagant flirt. What did it matter? I cared nothing for their odious tales; they were perfectly uninteresting to me; but since I have learned to appreciate all your good qualities, and have seen how easily you were influenced by the world's ill-natured opinion of me, I set such price on your esteem, your affection, that I could not bear to have you judge me as others do. And besides, you have often generously undertaken to defend me, and I wished to prove to you that your natural instincts were noble and just. And now I have still a painful confession to make to you." "Marguerite, I implore you--" "Yes," she continued, blushing, "I have struggled against it a long time. This morning, when you found me so wretched, so forlorn, I had been praying God for strength to resist the need I felt of rehabilitating myself in your sight." "Why, oh, why? Am I not worthy of your confidence?" "Yes, yes, you are; you always will be. I believe it, but I reproached myself bitterly that I was not so sure of the purity of my motives, the sincerity of my regrets, to remain indifferent as to the effect the world's calumnies might have on you, for I tremble for the future." Here there are many pages missing in the "Journal." CHAPTER XXIV DAYS OF SUNSHINE