The book I held in my hand was the _Confessions of S. Augustine_, and, opening it at hazard, the passage on which my eyes fell was this: “What I know, not with doubt, but with certainty; what I know, O my God! is that I love thee. Thy word penetrated my heart and suddenly caused it to love thee. The heavens and the earth, and all they contain, do they not cry without ceasing that all men should love thee? But he on whom it pleaseth thee to have mercy alone can comprehend this language.”[4] O words, ancient but ever new, like the beauty itself that inspired them! What a flight my soul took as I read them again here in this solitude and silence. Though centuries had passed since the day they were written, how exactly they expressed, how faithfully they portrayed, the feelings of my heart! How profound was the conviction I felt, in my turn, that, without the mercy and compassion of God, I should never have been able to understand their meaning! I was deeply, deeply plunged in these reflections, I was lost in a world, not of fancy, but of reality more delightful than a poet’s dreams, when an unusual noise brought me suddenly to myself. First I heard the rattling of a carriage which I supposed to be Mme. de Kergy’s. But I instantly saw two or three servants rush into the court, as if some unexpected event had occurred. Then the old gardener, at work in the parterre before me, suddenly threw down his watering-pot and uttered a cry of surprise and joy: “O goodness of God!” exclaimed he in a trembling voice, “there is Monsieur le Comte!” “Monsieur le Comte?” cried I, hastily rising.… But I had not time to finish my question. It was really he--Gilbert. He was there before me, on the upper step of the flight that led to the drawing-room. I sprang towards him with a joy I did not think of repressing or concealing, and, extending both hands, I exclaimed: “Oh! God be blessed a thousand times. It is you! You have returned! What a joyful surprise for your mother! For Diana! For me also, I assure you!…” I know not what else I was on the point of adding when, seeing him stand motionless, and gaze at me as if incapable of answering a word, a faint blush rose to my face. Was he surprised at such a greeting, or too much agitated? Perchance he was deceived as to its signification. This doubt caused a sudden embarrassment, and checked the words I was about to utter. At length he explained his unexpected arrival. His letter ought to have arrived before. He supposed his mother was notified.… He wished to spare her so sudden a surprise.… “I knew you were at Paris,” continued he, in a tone of agitation he could not overcome. “Yes … I knew it, and hoped to see you again. But to find you here … to see you the first, O madame! that was a happiness too great for me to anticipate, and I cannot yet realize it is not, after all, a dream.…”