"And she will be spared, be assured! Children who are silent and thoughtful are always dreamy and excitable; it is not surprising. Do not be uneasy. Well, good-bye, Irene; and you, Madame Paul, assure the princess of my respectful regards, and say how grateful I am for the promise she made me to send me daily my little friend." "Adieu, then, till to-morrow, Irene," and I kissed her tenderly. "Till to-morrow," repeated the child, with a happy but grave and serious smile. Then her nurse wrapped her warm pelisse around her, and Irene went off, turning several times, however, to say adieu with her little hand. Superstitious as I am, and inclined to tender and lofty sentiments by my love for Catherine, this conversation had aroused in me the most varied emotions,--emotions at once sombre and beaming, cruel and radiant. I was happy. The strange predictions which Irene repeated to her mother must, if Catherine loved me, recall me to her heart daily, and it was the voice of her child, her beloved child, which continually uttered my name! And this strange, fatal connection between Ivan's death and the fate that might be awaiting me,--must it not act upon Madame de Fersen's imagination and excite her interest in me? If she saw but little of me, did she not know that this reserve on my part was a cruel sacrifice I imposed upon myself for her sake? At other times, I acknowledge the weakness, the persistency of Irene's predictions, in spite of myself, chilled me. I experienced a sort of vertigo, of fearful attraction, similar to that which draws you to look down a precipice when you are walking at its edge. Unless the weather was too cold or rainy, the nurse brought Irene to me every day. By degrees she returned to blooming health. About a fortnight after our first meeting, she brought me a large bouquet of roses, telling me her mother sent them, but, unfortunately, they were not as beautiful as the roses of Khios. This souvenir of Catherine's overjoyed me, for I had spoken to her with enthusiasm of those lovely roses. Every day after that Irene brought me roses; and every day also she told me, with an air of mystery, without ever making a mistake, what her mother would do that evening, whether she was going to court, or in society, or to the theatre. Thanks to this amiable forethought of Madame de Fersen, I met her very frequently. I went regularly to her receptions, and, therefore, saw her almost every evening; but as in society I confined myself to greeting her most respectfully, exchanging merely a few ceremonious words, our meetings were unobserved. Once or twice I called on her of a morning; but by a singular chance, or rather in consequence of the assiduities with which she was surrounded, I never found her alone. Had I asked her for a private interview she would have granted it, but, true to the plan I had mapped out, I would not ask for it at present.