'I have been to many places and seen much society, and I have learned to behave _comme il faut_ and to speak the French. But it is only a little comedy that I act; I feel that within me remains always the little girl of the lake and forest, but dressed differently, and with a face that does not tell the truth, as then. I can look happy when I am sad, and grave when I wish to laugh.' 'But you are happier than you were before?' 'Oh, for example, behold a question of difficulty,' said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders. 'One is never happy as in childhood; but, in fine, one finds a way to be happy. To love what is beautiful is happiness, but then it is a happiness full of all that is most sad.' 'It is not often that one has discovered that truth at your age, mademoiselle.' 'But it is true, is it not? For beauty dies; or if not beauty, then the eye, the soul, that has enjoyed it. Why was it ever shown to us? It only makes us long for what never comes, for what can never be.' This gloomy philosophy, uttered by one who should have seen as yet only the sunshine of life, roused me to attempt what, for me, was the anomaly of vindicating the more hopeful view. Some platitude I brought forth about the soul finding in another world the fulfilment of unsatisfied aspirations, and I asked her whether she doubted immortality. We were leaning on the broad wooden railing of the promenade, looking seaward. The Countess was turning her ring absently on her forefinger. 'There ought to be immortality,' said she, 'to recompense us, not for what we have suffered in the world, but for what we have enjoyed!' 'Yes, you could not have hit upon a stronger argument,' returned I after a moment's thought. 'Is it strong enough?' 'Strong enough certainly to justify hope.' 'Ah, my God, one hopes without any justification at all. You conceive, monsieur, I am not of those who believe all we are told of the holy Greek Church. To believe, and after all to be deceived! I could not bear it. I have not found anyone so wise as to make all doubts seem foolish. But I have found many things that tell me, "Destiny mocks you." Yes,' she added, turning towards me with a kind of fierceness in her look, 'yes, destiny mocks me.' 'This girl has sustained some terrible injustice in her life,' I thought to myself. 'It glows in her words like the fire in her ruby.' After a pause she spoke again. 'Figure to yourself, monsieur, a life that feels itself strong and capable of all enjoyments and aspirations; and this life, in the midst of its joy and freedom, one day meets its destiny, which says, "You are a slave: your aspirations are ashes; your joy shall make you weep; you shall become all that you despise. If you struggle to be free, you shall but dig your dungeon deeper. So it shall be to the end; but I do not forbid you to hope." Well, is not that mockery?'