"I do not believe," said Mary, "in any earthly power that can dispense us from solemn obligations which we have assumed before God, and on which we have suffered others to build the most precious hopes. If James had won the affections of some girl, thinking as I do, I should not think it right for him to leave her and come to me. The Bible says, that the just man is 'he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.'" "_C'est le sublime de devoir!_" said Madame de Frontignac, who, with the airy frailty of her race, never lost her appreciation of the fine points of anything that went on under her eyes. But, nevertheless, she was inwardly resolved, that, picturesque as this "sublime of duty" was, it must not be allowed to pass beyond the limits of a fine art, and so she recommenced. "_Mais c'est absurde_. This beautiful young man, with his black eyes, and his curls,--a real hero,--a Theseus, Mary,--just come home from killing a Minotaur,--and loves you with his whole heart,--and this dreadful promise! Why, haven't you any sort of people in your Church that can unbind you from promises? I should think the good priest himself would do it!" "Perhaps he would," said Mary, "if I should ask him; but that would be equivalent to a breach of it. Of course, no man would marry a woman that asked to be dispensed." "You are an angel of delicacy, my child; _c'est admirable!_ but, after all, Mary, this is not well. Listen now to me. You are a very sweet saint, and very strong in goodness. I think you must have a very strong angel that takes care of you. But think, _chère enfant,_--think what it is to marry one man while you love another!" "But I love the Doctor," said Mary, evasively. "_Love!_" said Madame de Frontignac. "Oh, Marie! you may love him well, but you and I both know that there is something deeper than that. What will you _do_ with this young man? Must he move away from this place, and not be with his poor mother any more? Or can you see him, and hear him, and be with him, after your marriage, and not feel that you love him more than your husband?" "I should hope that God would help me to feel right," said Mary. "I am very much afraid He will not, _ma chère._ I asked Him a great many times to help _me,_ when I found how wrong it all was; but He did not. You remember what you told me the other day,--that, if I would do right, I must not _see_ that man any more. You will have to ask him to go away from this place; you can never see him; for this love will never die till you die;--that you may be sure of. Is it wise? is it right, dear little one? _Must_ he leave his home forever for you? or must you struggle always, and grow whiter and whiter, and fall away into heaven, like the moon this morning, and nobody know what is the matter? People will say you have the liver-complaint, or the consumption, or something. Nobody ever knows what we women die of."