Sister Anne was in the garden, trembling from head to foot; old Marguerite was asleep, and the girl could abandon herself without restraint to the sentiments which agitated her. The presence of those two men who knew Frédéric caused her a disquietude which became more painful with every minute that passed. To live without her friend seemed impossible to her now. Love was life itself to that heart of flame which had not learned, in that forest solitude, to control its passions. Her loving heart had flown to meet him who had said to her: "I love you." But when she gave herself to him, Sister Anne bound herself forever. Frédéric had taught her to know happiness; he had revivified her heart, withered by misfortune. When she finds that she has the power to please, a woman is born again. What would become of her, if she must renounce that hope at sixteen? Frédéric was all in all to her; and until that moment love had seemed to her the summit of earthly happiness. But there is no lasting happiness, especially in love. Only a few short days of bliss had passed, and already the poor child was beginning to know the suffering which that sentiment brings in its train. At last, Frédéric appeared. She did not run--she flew into his arms; she cast her eyes about; he was alone, and her heart was more at ease. "No," said her lover, kissing her; "I will not leave you. Where could I find a lovelier woman--one more faithful or more worthy to be loved? What do I care what they say? what do I care for a world to which no tie binds me? I am perfectly happy here. My father himself could not induce me to give you up!" Another kiss on the girl's sweet lips sealed the promise he had made. The night with its darkness brought even sweeter moments, for the lovers shared the same couch; and in the arms of her who lavished the most loving caresses upon him, Frédéric repeated his vow: "No, I will never leave you!" But after a week, the days passed less swiftly for our lover; the poor girl's fond caresses no longer sufficed to occupy the time; he felt that he must have some occupation, that one cannot dream one's whole life away beside a mountain stream. After another week, he went down into the valley, mounted the horse, which he had kept, and took several short rides in the neighborhood, to procure some provisions that they required, as he told Sister Anne; although he had done well enough without them at the beginning of his sojourn in the woods. After another week, he began to gaze longingly in the direction of Grenoble. He was surprised that Dubourg did not return to inquire as to his welfare, and that Ménard too had forgotten him. Indeed, I believe that in his heart he was offended. Did he no longer love Sister Anne? Oh! yes, he loved her still. But time!--And, as Dubourg had well said, there is no love strong enough to stand a tête-à-tête of three weeks.