After a moment's silence, during which the princess appeared borne down by the weight of a painful recollection, she thus resumed:-- "The laws of duelling were of excessive severity. Charles de Brévannes went away that same day. Raphael was unknown in Florence: neither Osorio nor the second of M. de Brévannes appeared again. No one, therefore, could betray this fatal secret. My aunt was the more inconsolable for the sudden departure of Charles de Brévannes, as for want of his support she lost her suit, and was completely ruined. We returned to Venice, when I became so very ill." "And in a year afterwards you were the Princess de Hansfeld?" "Yes, to save my family from dire misfortune, I resigned myself to this marriage, for which I could hardly have looked. Thanks to the kindness, the cares, and delicacy of the prince, I saw before me a prospect of happy days once more; and to gratitude there was gradually succeeding a sentiment more tender and delightful, when, suddenly, M. de Hansfeld, affected in some most extraordinary manner, forgot his kindness and his accustomed gentleness; and," added Madame de Hansfeld, with a deep sigh, "then began the life I now lead. Sometimes I ask myself, how my reason can have received such shocks and not have broken down beneath them? The fear and amazement caused in me by the singular and alarming behaviour of the prince follow me even into the world when I go sometimes to seek, not amusement, but forgetfulness. For nearly six months had I dragged on this wretched existence, in appearance so splendid and happy, when I accidentally met M. de Morville. I remarked him, because I had heard so much said of his fidelity, which he had, like myself, vowed to an adored remembrance. Every where they talked of his devotion, his delicacy, and above all, his tender constancy for a lady from whom he had been forcibly separated. Rendered sad by his love, entirely devoted to his invalid mother, he went out but very little. He resided near us in the Rue Guillaume. One day I found a letter on the bench in the most lonely part of our garden. Without at all comprehending the means by which that letter had reached there, my first impression, as you know, was to believe that it came from him. "I was confirmed in this idea the next day, when I remained for some hours concealed in a clump, and towards evening saw another letter fall, dropped out of a window concealed by ivy. "M. de Morville seemed to penetrate the causes of the thoughts which agitated me. Gay, if I were gay, sad, if I were sad, dull and despairing, if I were so, his letters seemed the echo of my most deep or light impressions." "How could he guess them?" "By observing me, he read in my countenance the situation of my mind." "He loves you well," said Iris, with a voice deeply agitated.