There was no need of me to speak. She read my question in my eyes: of her own accord she answered: "Yes, Pierre, it is quite true." "But, Pierre," added she in tears, "I am yours, and must be yours for ever. Unless I can get you to say, Marry Jacques, I will remain single all my life. But my mother begs me to get married; and what can I do? She is very old, and very ill just now. I feel I _too_ have got a duty to fulfil." I uttered a cry of despair. "Pierre," said Marie, still weeping, "you must know how dearly I love you. My fate is that I must love you still. But, for all that, Pierre, I cannot let my mother die." I could not bear to hear her weep; but what comfort could I give? At last the devil entered into my heart, {117} and I broke forth in bitter curses at my fate, and what I chose to call her inconstancy. "I don't deserve this," said Marie very softly; "and I hardly expected that I should ever hear these words from your lips. Still, I believe you love me, after all. I hope you will feel, when you think over all that has passed, that I am not heartless, and that I deserve some answer to the question which my lips almost refuse to ask. You will give me an answer, I am sure, by-and-by." And then she left me, half-mad as I was, lying coiled up in a heap at the roadside. During the next few days I did reflect. If I could not marry Marie myself, had I any right to hinder her marriage with another? Was I justified in preparing for her a life of solitude, and in depriving her of a mother's care? And then, again, I began to perceive that no one was at all inclined to take my part in the village. My popularity was fast declining, since no one could look into my heart, or could have the least idea what I had suffered, or knew what had actually taken place. I was pitied, but considered very selfish. I was continually told that Marie's mother was ailing sadly, and that she had deserved better treatment at my hands. At last Father Hermann comforted me, and benefitting by his good advice and by the help of our holy religion, I began to be in a better frame of mind. I made up my mind to give Marie her freedom. But I could not bear to see her again, and so I wrote. CHAPTER V. The marriage between Jaques and Marie was soon arranged, and soon the second festal day came round. In the morning I put out to sea as usual; but as the evening wore on, I found I was under the influence of a spell and that it was quite impossible for me to remain where I was. Accordingly I returned; and, led on by the spell and attracted like a moth to the candle, wended my way to the rejoicings, in order that I might torture myself for the lost time. I have heard of the agonies of the rack, of the thumb-screw, of saints being boiled in oil and crucified, and many other dreadful horrors; but I very much doubt if any martyr ever suffered the agony that I did that night.