water at the lake, while the poor doe uttered a doleful cry, beat the water with her feet, reared up, and then fell back dead. “I uttered a cry almost as doleful as hers, and fell fainting on the bank. When I came to myself again, I was in bed, in a room of the château of Beaugé, and my father, who had been sent for, standing by me. As it was nothing but over-excitement, the next morning I was able to return home; although I suffered for three or four days. Then my father told me, that M. de Monsoreau, who had seen me, when I was carried to the castle, had come to ask after me; he had been much grieved when he heard that he had been the involuntary cause of my accident and begged to present his excuses to me, saying, that he could not be happy until he had his pardon from my own lips. “It would have been ridiculous to refuse to see him, so, in spite of my repugnance, I granted his request. He came the next day; I felt that my behavior must have seemed strange, and I excused it on the ground of my affection for Daphne. The count swore twenty times, that had he known I had any interest in his victim, he would have spared her with pleasure; but his protestations did not convince me, nor remove the unfavorable impression I had formed of him. When he took leave, he asked my father’s permission to come again. He had been born in Spain and educated at Madrid, and it was an attraction for my father to talk over the place where he had been so long a prisoner. Besides, the count was of good family, deputy-governor of the province, and a favorite, it was said, of the Due d’Anjou; my father had no motive for refusing his request, and it was granted. Alas! from this moment ceased, if not my happiness, at least my tranquillity. I soon perceived the impression I had made on the count; he began to come every day, and was full of attentions to my father, who showed the pleasure he took in his conversation, which was certainly that of a clever man. “One morning my father entered my room with an air graver than usual, but still evidently joyful. ‘My child,’ said he, ‘you always have said you did not wish to leave me.’ “‘Oh! my father,’ cried I, ‘it is my dearest wish.’ “‘Well, my Diana,’ continued he, embracing me, ‘it only depends now on yourself to have your wish realized.’ I guessed what he was about to say, and grew dreadfully pale. “‘Diana, my child, what is the matter?’ cried he. “‘M. de Monsoreau, is it not?’ stammered I. ‘Well?’ said he, astonished. ‘Oh! never, my father, if you have any pity for your daughter, never----’ “‘Diana, my love,’ said he, ‘it is not pity I have for you, but idolatry; you know it; take a week to reflect, and if then----’ “‘Oh! no, no,’ cried I, ‘it is useless; not a day, not a minute! No, no, no!’ and I burst into tears. My father adored me, and he took me in his arms, and gave me his word that he would speak to me no more of this marriage.