Poor Elaine. She had returned to her room completely overwhelmed by what she had heard. What woman could it have been with Claude? To whom could he have been talking? Some cruel coquette who made it her pastime to lead men astray, blinding them to their true happiness and boasting of her conquests. She, Elaine, had been a help to him in his work, his faithful companion, always ready with sweet sympathy and valuable counsel. How many times had she helped him to overcome despondency and to triumph over obstacles of all kinds. And was she to lose all this? Was she to submit passively to the sight of her happiness crumbling to the ground before her eyes? No! she would struggle to regain it! She would make every effort as long as there was the least hope; would try to win back his love; would never reproach him; would be as cheerful and as lovely as ever. She would try in every way to make herself beautiful and fascinating. One thought tormented her--she turned to the mirror to see if she were commencing to grow old. How many women have asked themselves this same question, and with what fear of the answer? She heard a knock at the door. "It is I, mother; may I come in?" Her son! "Certainly." Paul started when he saw how pale his mother was. She sat down, pointing out a chair for her son; but he knelt at her feet, and, embracing her tenderly, said: "You are the loveliest woman in the world, and the most intelligent; but, at the same time, you are the most ungrateful." "I, ungrateful?" "Oh! you need not look so astonished. Do you not remember when we used to live alone together, that I told you every thing? No matter what the trouble was, I would turn to you, and you would console me. How many times have you wiped away my tears! But now, you are in sorrow; and you will not confide in me." Paul felt his mother tremble. "You are mistaken dear child. I am not unhappy." "Then, why are you so sad? Why do you tremble? Why are you so pale, and why are these tears in your eyes?" Elaine's wounded heart could not withstand this loving appeal. Her head rested on Paul's shoulder, and she burst into tears. The young man was frightened. Was the wound so deep-- "Great God, mother! you are unhappy? What can be the cause?" She wept without replying. Paul pressed his cheek against her lovely head, his eyes full of tears. "You will not tell me? But, remember, dearest mother, that you have always been my mother and sister at the same time. I know there are some things that a mother can not reveal to her son. Keep your secret from your son, but confide it to your loving brother." "Thank you, darling. I am unhappy." "But, why?" "Because I--" "Open your heart so that I can sympathize with you."