Thus during the whole time we were at table, and the evening that followed, I realized the true meaning of the word _conversation_ in a country where it originated, in the social world where it was coined, and in the language which is, of all mediums, the most delicate, the most perfect, and the most universal. In spite of myself, I felt my sadness gradually vanish, and my laugh more than once mingled freely in the merriment of others. I saw that Mme. de Kergy observed this with pleasure, and a benevolent smile increased the habitual sweetness of her expression. She was a woman whose unvarying serenity was the result of great suffering, and who now sought nothing in this world but the happiness of others; to whose pains she was as fully alive as she was full of profound compassion. She wore mourning, not only for her husband, but a number of children, of whom Gilbert and Diana were the sole survivors. But far from centring her affection on them, she seemed to have given to all who were young the love she had cherished for those who were gone, and the vacant places they had left in her maternal heart. I could not help regarding her with astonishment, for I belonged to a country where it is more common to die of grief than to learn how to live under its burden. I returned Mme. de Kergy’s smile, and for an hour felt gay and almost happy. But by degrees the burden, removed for an instant, fell back on my heart. The reality of my troubles, and the thought of bidding farewell to this delightful circle of friends, filled me with a melancholy it was impossible to repress. The regret that weighed on my heart was for a moment as profound as that we feel for our country when we fear never to behold it again. I remained seated in an arm‐chair near the fire‐place, and fell into a revery which was favored by Diana, who was at the piano. She was at that moment playing with consummate skill an air of Chopin’s which seemed to give expression to my very thoughts.... I awoke from my long revery, and felt a blush mount to my very forehead when, raising my eyes, I found Gilbert’s fixed on mine.... And mine were veiled with tears! I hastily brushed them away, stammering with confusion that Chopin’s music always affected my nerves, and then, leaving my seat, I approached the piano, where Diana continued to play one air after another.... Gilbert remained with a pensive manner in the place where I left him, looking at me from a distance, and trying, perhaps, to conjecture the cause of my emotion. But the approaching separation was sufficient to account for this. I was that very evening to bid a long farewell to these new friends, whom perhaps I should never meet again in this world! And when the hour came, and Mme. de Kergy clasped me for the last time in her arms, I made no effort to restrain my tears. Diana wept also, and, throwing her arms around my neck, said: “Oh! do not forget me. I love you so much!” Her mother added with a tearful voice: