"I did feel sorry, ma'm'selle, that I could not go; but now--now I am happy," was my remark. "Oh, captain, you are very gallant," said she, as we took seats. "I was not in the mood for merrymaking, and then, I am reading a book." "A book! May its covers be the gates of happiness," I answered. "Eh bien! it is a tale of love," said she. "Of a man for a woman?" I inquired. "Of a lady that loved two knights, and knew not which the better." "Is it possible and--and reasonable?" I inquired. "In a tale things should go as--well, as God plans them." "Quite possible," said she, "for in such a thing as love who knows what--what may happen?" "Except he have a wide experience," I answered. "And have God's eyes," said she. "Let me tell you. They were both handsome, brave, splendid, of course, but there was a difference: the one had a more perfect beauty of form and face, the other a nobler soul." "And which will she favor?" "Alas! I have not read, and do not know her enough to judge," was her answer; "but I shall hate her if she does not take him with the better soul." "And why?" I could hear my heart beating. "Love is not love unless it be--" She paused, thinking. "Dieu! from soul to soul," she added feelingly. She was looking down, a white, tapered finger stirring the red petals of the rose. Then she spoke in a low, sweet tone that trembled with holy feeling and cut me like a sword of the spirit going to its very hilt in my soul. "Love looks to what is noble," said she, "or it is vain--it is wicked; it fails; it dies in a day, like the rose. True love, that is forever." "What if it be hopeless?" I whispered. "Ah! then it is very bitter," said she, her voice diminishing. "It may kill the body, but--but love does not die. When it comes--" There was a breath of silence that had in it a strange harmony not of this world. "'When it comes'?" I whispered. "You see the coming of a great king," said she, looking down thoughtfully, her chin, upon her hand. "And all people bow their heads," I said. "Yes," she added, with a sigh, "and give their bodies to be burned, if he ask it. The king is cruel--sometimes." "Dieu!" said I. "He has many captives." She broke a sprig of fern, twirling it in her fingers; her big eyes looked up at me, and saw, I know, to the bottom of my soul. "But long live the king!" said she, her lips trembling, her cheeks as red as the rose upon her bosom. "Long live the king!" I murmured. We dared go no farther. Sweet philosopher, inspired of Heaven, I could not bear the look of her, and rose quickly with dim eyes and went out of the open door. A revelation had come to me. Mere de Dieu! how I loved that woman so fashioned in thy image! She followed me, and laid her hand upon my arm tenderly, while I shook with emotion. "Captain," said she, in that sweet voice, "captain, what have I done?"