"Well, then, we will change the word, and say the duties it has pleased Providence to impose on you; you have to endeavour to erase from the mind of your wife all the pain you have made her suffer, and that to a generous mind is an occupation at once grand and noble. But what means have we of filling up the void left in our hearts by this sudden breaking off of an intimacy we delighted in? So long as this poor girl is permitted to remain with me I shall regret you less poignantly; but when I am left to myself----. My child had even become more indifferent to the many causes of unhappiness her home supplied, from the soothing pleasure and calm enjoyment she experienced in her visits here. And now what is left her? Nothing but vain regrets for a past happiness it would, perhaps, have been far better she had never known." "Dearest father," replied Bertha, "do not afflict yourself for me; I will try and submit as I ought to this painful separation from our valued friend; besides, shall I not still have you to love and cherish?" "True, my child; and I promise you that though he," added the old man, extending his hand to Arnold, who warmly pressed it between his own, "be no longer present to our view, he shall still live in our memories; and that we will never meet without at least mentioning his name." "Then take courage, Monsieur Arnold," said Bertha, striving to smile even amid her fast-falling tears, "you hear what my father says--we shall never cease to cherish you in our recollections; and very, very often talk of you, and of the happy hours we have passed together. And now farewell! in this world farewell for ever!" The violent emotion of M. de Hansfeld almost overpowered him; in a broken voice he at length contrived to murmur,-- "Adieu! dear and estimable friend and sister, adieu for ever! but oh, believe----" Here, however, further utterance was denied him; his sobs burst forth with overwhelming force, and he hastily covered his face with his hands. "You see," said he, after a momentary silence, during which he had succeeded in partly repressing his agitation, and addressing Pierre Raimond, who was contemplating him with deep sorrow, "still the same weak, feebleminded creature as ever; how must I sink in the estimation of one of your stern, rigid character!" But without replying to this remark, Pierre Raimond abruptly exclaimed,-- "But, merciful heavens! now I consider, your wife's innocence of the frightful crime imputed to her is happily proved,--of that there is no doubt. But the pertinacity with which your life has been so repeatedly placed in danger; some one must be guilty of all this. At Trieste, or here, I should say it might have been effected by strangers; but while you were travelling, staying for the night merely at an inn, it appears to me it must have been the work of some person in your establishment, or at least a very singular concurrence of circumstances must exist."