Catherine could not resist this last shock; she forgot herself completely, and, in a smothered voice, resting her trembling hands upon my arm, she cried: "It is impossible, you are not leaving, you shall not leave! I will not allow you to leave!" At the movement of general consternation, at the confused, embarrassed expression of the spectators of this scene, I could see that Madame de Fersen's reputation, hitherto unassailed, was now for ever lost. I remained inflexible. Gently disengaging my arm from her hands, I said: "I feel so happy and proud, madame, at the regret my departure seems to give you, that I would already be thinking of my return, were it not unfortunately impossible to predict it." Then in saluting her I added: "Here, madame, are the particulars you asked of me." And I handed her a duplicate of the commentary I had written on her love. Catherine no longer heard me; she had fallen prostrated into an armchair, mechanically holding in her hands the notes I had left her. I took my departure. The next evening I was here,--at Serval. Three months ago I heard that Irene was dead,--dead, doubtless, of grief at seeing me no more. Madame de Fersen has returned to Russia with her husband. To put the crowning stroke to my remorse and despair, I also learned that the Prince de Fersen had been on the point of obtaining the post of Russian ambassador to France, but that suddenly he had withdrawn. This explained Catherine's persistence in her diplomatic relations. She wanted to assist her husband in obtaining an important post, in order that they might remain in France, and be with me. Since the day following that terrible evening I reside at Serval, this old and gloomy ancestral château. When I heard of Irene's death, I became almost insane. I loathe myself as her murderer. My life here is isolated and desolate. For the last six months I have seen no one, not a soul. Each day I meditate for hours before my father's portrait. I had charged myself with the task of writing this journal. My task is now accomplished. I have been the cause of suffering to some innocent creatures, but I, also, have suffered much. Ah, _mon Dieu!_ am I not still suffering? What is my future? Before me life is dark and gloomy; I am pursued by remorse for the past. What is my fate? Am I to perish by suicide? Am I to die the violent death Irene predicted for me? What thoughts! And this very day I am twenty-eight. MARIE BELMONT CHAPTER XXVIII MARIE BELMONT SERVAL, January 20, 18--. Who would have said six months ago that I would ever take up this journal again, or, rather, that I would ever recover from the apathy of heart and mind into which I had been thrown by my rupture with Madame de Fersen, by the death of Irene? Such, though, is the case. And yet my despair was frightful! To-day, though the remembrance of that time gives me sore pain, a distant hope, new sensations mitigate that soreness.