When she at length perceived the nature of her sentiments, it was too late to subdue them—for she loved M. de Gaser with all the devotedness of an ardent nature, and a vivid imagination; remorse even added depth to her affection. Since the moment she had comprehended that her feeling for Edmond was neither esteem nor friendship, but a more absorbing attachment, the recollection of her husband arose in her heart with all the impetuosity of an appealing conscience. She would have taken refuge in flight, but winter was at its height, and she dared not cause her mother to undertake at that time, a journey whose consequences would have been fatal to her health. Every thing was in opposition to poor Wilhelmine; the representations of her mother, who treated the griefs which engrossed her as mere idle scruples; the opinion of the world, which might have served to authorise in her own eyes a second marriage; and, more than all, the constant presence of Edmond—for had she ceased to see him, it would have seemed a tacit confession of weakness. The tears she almost continually shed, destroyed her health; and when, on the arrival of spring, they prepared to leave Brussels, it was not for Madame de Cernan, but for Wilhelmine, the journey offered dangers, so completely had she been, in a short time, exhausted by grief. Nevertheless, the day for their departure was fixed. Wishing to avoid a final interview with M. de Gaser, she denied herself to visitors; but Edmond, charmed at the thought of Wilhelmine’s no longer suffering, entered by a different door, and penetrated into the garden of the hotel. He stood fixedly regarding the windows which he supposed were those of Madame de Breuil’s apartment, when suddenly, in a turn of the path, he perceived her walking slowly, her eyes bent on the ground, like a person giving way to most profound abstraction. The exclamation uttered by Edmond on recognising her, aroused her from her reverie. Wilhelmine being no longer able to control her emotion, Edmond realised that he was beloved; and this belief lent him courage to declare a tenderness which had until now been only told by his looks. Troubled and irresolute, Wilhelmine seemed not to hear him, but, nevertheless, every word re-echoed through her heart. At last, with that impetuosity of determination which sometimes succeeds to prolonged uncertainty, she answered, “In six months I will be your wife!” and then hastily quitted him, leaving M. de Gaser intoxicated with happiness.