"The resources of the mind, Madam," answered I; "only serve to increase misfortunes by showing them under a thousand different forms." "But if those misfortunes are without remedy, is it not a folly to struggle against them, instead of submitting to necessity, which can compel even the strongest to yield?"--"True, Madam; but that only makes necessity a hardship the more."--"Still, you must own, Ourika, that reason commands us to resign ourselves, and divert our attention."--"We must have a glimpse of happiness elsewhere to be able to do so."--"Then cannot you try what occupation and forcing your mind to a little pleasure will do?"--"Ah! Madam, pleasures that are forced upon us are more tedious than melancholy."--"But why neglect your talents?"--"Talents must have some object (when they charm not their possessor,) ere they can become a resource. Mine would be like the flower of the English poet-- Born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness in the desert air." "Are your friends then no object?" "I have no friends, Madam; I have patrons." "Ourika, you make yourself very needlessly unhappy." "Every thing in my life is needless, Madam, even my grief." "How can you nourish such bitter thoughts. You, Ourika, who were so devoted to Madame de B. during her distress, when every other friend had left her." "Alas! Madam, I am like an evil genius, whose power lasts in calamity, but who dies on the return of happiness." "Let me be your confidant, my dear; open your heart to me. Tell me your secret. No one can take a greater interest in you than I do, and I shall perhaps be able to do you good." "I have no secret," replied I; "my colour and my situation are my sole misfortunes, as you know, Madam." "Nay, do you deny that you have a secret sorrow? It is impossible to behold you for a moment without being certain of it." I persisted in what I had first said. She grew impatient, and I saw the storm rising that was to burst upon me. "Is this your good faith?" cried she. "Is this your vaunted sincerity? Ourika, take care. Reserve sometimes leads to deceit." "What, Madam, can I have to reveal to you? You, who foresaw my misery so long ago, I can tell you nothing that you do not know already." "I will not believe you," answered she; "and since you refuse to trust your secret to me, and pretend that you have none, I will convince you that I know it. Yes, Ourika; a senseless passion is the cause of all your grief, and your regret; and were you not so desperately in love with Charles, you would care very little about being a negress. Adieu. I leave you, I must own, with much less regard than I felt in coming here." So saying she quitted the room. I remained thunderstruck. What had she revealed to me? What horrid interpretation had she put upon my grief? Who? I nourish a criminal passion? I let it canker my heart! Was my wish to hold a link in the chain of my fellow-creatures,