These words went to my heart, and produced so great, so sweet an emotion, that, in spite of myself, my hopes once more were aroused, but, controlling my thoughts, and wishing to change the subject, I said: "Do you not congratulate me on my future successes?" She looked at me in amazement. "What successes?" "Have you not read to-day's paper?" "Yes, I have. But of what success are you speaking?" "They say in this paper that very soon I shall be called to a very important position at the Foreign Office." Catherine, without appearing to have heard me, replied: "Will you make me a promise?" "What is it?" "I shall send Irene to you to the chalet, but I do not wish to see you to-day. You will not be vexed with me?" she said, sadly, to me, holding out her hand. "No, certainly not," I said, much surprised, however, at this sudden determination. THE GROVE, 13th May, 18--. How long is it since this journal was interrupted? I know not. I cannot remember. Besides, what do I know now? What do I remember? All that has happened, is it not a dream, a dream so dazzling that I ask myself where is the limit of reality? Where ends the dream? Where commences the awakening? Dream, memory, awakening! These are vain words, and faded, which I used before this day. I wish now for new words to describe what I had never before felt. Not only does it seem to me impossible to use the words of other days to describe my feelings of to-day, it seems to me a blasphemy, a profanation. Am I not the dupe of a delusion? Is it I, my own self, who is writing this at the Grove, in the chalet? Yes, yes, it is my own self. I am looking at the clock which points to the hour of five. I see the lake reflecting the rays of the sun. I hear the trees rustling in the breeze. I scent the fragrance of the flowers, and in the distance I see her dwelling,--hers. It is not, then, a dream? Let me see, let me gather my thoughts, let me go back step by step to the source of that torrent of happiness which intoxicates me. What day is this? I know not. Ah, yes, it is Sunday. She went to mass this morning, and there she wept, she wept abundantly. Blessed be those precious tears! But when did we receive those papers? Ah, here they are,--it was the day before yesterday. The day before yesterday! 'Tis strange! If years had passed since that day it would not seem to me further away! Between the past of yesterday, which was almost indifferent to us, and the present to-day, which is all in all to us, is there not the distance of centuries? Yes, it was the day before yesterday that Catherine begged me to leave her to herself. I obeyed her wishes, but felt very sad. Irene came to play on the steps of the chalet. The dinner bell sounded. Instead of appearing at table, as usual, Catherine sent word begging me to dine by myself, for she was suffering. In the evening the air was sultry. Catherine came down to the parlours. I found her looking very pale.