Julie covered her face with her hands. The tears were still running down her cheeks, and though she knew her father's inflexible nature, there was a remonstrance struggling in her heart, to which she would have fain given utterance, but the stern glance of Villars, which never left her for a moment, frightened her and took away her words. An instant after the old servant came in, and told them that M. Durand desired to see him. Julie clasped her hands and extended them with an imploring look towards her father. "Silence, child!" cried he; "Julie, not a word!" and followed the servant from the room. Whatever might have passed between him and Charles, when he returned there was a deeper spot upon his brow, and his step had something of angry haste in it as he advanced to where his daughter sate. "Julie," said he, "on your duty to me as your father, I command you never to see that young man again." Julie paused. "Do you hesitate? Disobedient girl! Mark me, one moment more, and I cast you off for ever. Julie, you know me. I am not used to say what I do not perform. Promise me instantly never again willingly to see Charles Durand, or we are no longer father and child." It was a dreadful alternative, and Julie promised. How blighting is the loss of what we love! Affection is as the sunshine of existence, and when it is gone, the rest is all darkness. The flowers of life, the beauties of being, are all obscured, and we wander blindly on through an unseen world, which might as well be a desert as a garden, in the deep shadow of that starlight night. It is not so much that which we have not as that which we lose, that we sigh for. Had Julie never known the charm of mutual affection, all would still have been bright, but now day after day went by, the blank of passing existence. At length the news reached her father that Charles had left Arles, and, sinking into his usual habits, he permitted Julie to pursue the rambles she had been accustomed to take. But nature to her had lost its loveliness. The flowers seemed withered, the song of the lark sounded harsh, and she wandered slowly on, occupied with sad thoughts. She raised her eyes to the arch of triumph on the hill above. There was a figure standing by it, which passed quickly away, but it recalled to Julie the time she had first seen Charles Durand, and the hours they had spent there together, and, placing the past happiness with the present sorrow, the contrast was too strong, and she wept bitterly.