The thread of our thoughts does not always escape exterior and purely physical influences. I was beginning to find this out. Springtime was approaching, and I felt as if with the dreary winter the first bitterness of my sorrow would pass away, and that vague projects and sweet hopes for the future would blossom with the smiling foliage of May. We were now getting on towards the middle of April; since my father's death I had never been able to make up my mind to visit the village cemetery, in which stood our family monument, so fearful was I of the cruel impression such a visit would have upon me. One day, as I deplored my weakness, Hélène said to me, "Try to be more courageous, Arthur; come, I will go with you." As Hélène's mother was not very well, she could not go with us; so we set forth together. My emotion was so violent that I was trembling and could scarcely stand. Hélène, who was, perhaps, quite as much unnerved as I, showed it less. When we arrived at the entrance door of the vault, I fainted away. When I came to myself, I saw Hélène kneeling beside me. I felt her warm tears fall on my cheek, for she was holding my head in her two hands. For the very first time, strange as it may seem, in spite of the sacredness of the place, in spite of the heartrending thoughts with which I was prepared to be overcome, for the first time in my life I was struck with Hélène's beauty. This first sensation passed rapidly as a dream, and my deep sadness again possessed me. I remained weeping for a long time, and then we returned to the château. After that I went with Hélène almost daily to the cemetery, and, instead of my sharp and violent grief, I began to indulge in a sweet melancholy, which was not without a certain charm. I began to admit to myself with a sense of pleasure that I was ineffably grateful for the memory of my father, and I blessed him with pious admiration for having been able to show me always such deep and far-seeing affection, having such terrible convictions as he had on the forgetfulness of the living for those who are no longer among them. Emerging from my state of stupor, I began at length to appreciate the splendid position that he had made for me, and I promised that I would remain eternally grateful to him, but after awhile, as I began to contemplate my position in all its brilliancy, I would sometimes tremble, as I thought I discovered in the depths of my mind a frightful reaction of egotistic satisfaction. I have told what a long time it was before I began to notice Hélène's beauty. Though this may have been strange, you must remember that she had always seemed to me like a sister. When I had started on my travels she was at a convent school, almost a child; and during the last few months of my father's life I had been so cruelly preoccupied with his sufferings, and Hélène had shown such a devoted and filial affection for him, that the sort of fraternal feeling I cherished for her had never changed.