He held the woman's hand; she arose, tears streaming from her eyes, and, stepping up to the mirror with a strange smile on her face, she cut from her head a long tress of hair; then she looked at herself thus disfigured and deprived of a part of her beautiful crown, and gave it to her lover. The clock struck again; it was time to go; when they passed out they seemed as joyful as when they entered. "What a beautiful sun!" said the young man. "And a beautiful day," said Brigitte, "the memory of which shall never fade." They hastened away and disappeared in the crowd. Some time later a carriage passed over a little hill behind Fontainebleau. The young man was the only occupant; he looked for the last time upon his native town as it disappeared in the distance, and thanked God that, of the three beings who had suffered through his fault, there remained but one of them still unhappy. ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: Because you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocent Cold silence, that negative force Contrive to use proud disdain as a shield Fool who destroys his own happiness Funeral processions are no longer permitted How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment Is it not enough to have lived? Make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes Reading the Memoirs of Constant Sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness Speak to me of your love, she said, "not of your grief Suffered, and yet took pleasure in it Suspicions that are ever born anew "Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love" Who has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt You play with happiness as a child plays with a rattle Your great weapon is silence