When she had heard all, she summoned strength to smile at her daughter, who at last looked up to her with an expression of timid uncertainty-- embracing her more tightly still. "Well, my darling," said she, at last, "it is a great affliction, it is true. You are right, notwithstanding; there is nothing to despair of." "Do you really believe so?" "Certainly. There is some inconceivable mystery under all this; but be assured that the evil is not so terrible as it appears." "My poor mother! but he has acknowledged it?" "I am better pleased that he has acknowledged it. That proves he has yet some pride, and that some good is left in his soul. Then, too, he feels very much afflicted--he suffers as much as we. Think of that. Let us think of the future, my darling." They clasped each other's hands, and smiled at each other to restrain the tears which filled the eyes of both. After a few minutes--"I wish much, my child," said Madame de Tecle, "to repose for half an hour; and then also I wish to arrange my toilet." "I will conduct you to your chamber. Oh, I can walk! I feel a great deal better." Madame de Camors took her mother's arm and conducted her as far as the door of the chamber prepared for her. On the threshold she left her. "Be sensible," said Madame de Tecle, turning and giving her another smile. "And you also," said the young woman, whose voice failed her. Madame de Tecle, as soon as the door was closed, raised her clasped hands toward heaven; then, falling on her knees before the bed, she buried her head in it, and wept despairingly. The library of M. de Camors was contiguous to this chamber. He had been walking with long strides up and down this corridor, expecting every moment to see Madame de Tecle enter. As the time passed, he sat himself down and tried to read, but his thoughts wandered. His ear eagerly caught, against his will, the slightest sounds in the house. If a foot seemed approaching him, he rose suddenly and tried to compose his countenance. When the door of the neighboring chamber was opened, his agony was redoubled. He distinguished the whispering of the two voices; then, an instant after, the dull fall of Madame de Tecle upon the carpet; then her despairing sobs. M. de Camors threw from him violently the book which he was forcing himself to read, and, placing his elbows on the bureau which was before him, held, for a long time, his pale brow tightened in his contracted hands. When the sound of sobs abated little by little, and then ceased, he breathed freer. About midday he received this note: "If you will permit me to take my daughter to the country for a few days, I shall be grateful to you. "ELISE DE TECLE." He returned immediately this simple reply: "You can do nothing of which I do not approve to-day and always. CAMORS."