"I did the one, but not the other," replied the Abbé calmly. "I dealt not with the reiters, Gaspar de Montsoreau, for that would have been dangerous to me, to her, and to you. But I did inform the troops of the King, because I already had learned how deeply the Duke of Guise was pledged to your brother; because I knew that no reasoning would prevent either you or this fair girl from going on to Soissons; and because I saw that there was no earthly chance of your obtaining her hand, but by placing her under the charge of her father's nearest male relation, from whom the Duke of Guise unjustly withholds the guardianship. I own it, I acknowledge it, I am proud of it." The way in which the Abbé replied was not such as Gaspar de Montsoreau had expected; but dissatisfied with himself, and of course with every thing else, Gaspar de Montsoreau still gazed sullenly on the floor, and then raised his eyes to the open window of the pavilion, where the warm sun was seen streaming through the green vines, with the birds still singing sweetly in the woods without. But it was all to him as the face of Eden to our first parents after the fall; a shade seemed to come over his eyes when he looked upon the loveliness of nature; the very sunshine seemed to him darkness; and the fair world a desert. "Can you give me back my delight in that sunshine?" he said, after a pause. "Can you make the notes of those birds again sound sweet to my ear? Can you remove the heavy, heavy burden of remorse from this heart? Can you ever, ever prove to me, that for this unrequited love I have not made myself a guilty wretch, bearing the sign of Cain upon his brow, the curse of Cain within his bosom?" "If such be your feelings," replied the Abbé, "if such--contrary to all justice and reason--is the state in which your mind is to remain, there is one way that will alleviate and soothe you, that may seem in your eyes some atonement, and put your conscience more at rest. Cast off this love which you believe has led you into evil, yield the pursuit of this fair girl, renounce the object for which you did that whereof your heart reproaches you, and by that voluntary punishment and self-command, do penance for aught in which you may have failed. Doubtless, that penance will be severe and terrible to endure; but the more it is so, the greater is the atonement."