He felt more and more each day that it was time for him to quit the city of Poitiers, but still he was detained there by circumstances that he could not alter; and on the fifth day after his arrival, having passed a somewhat sleepless night, and feeling his brow hot and aching, he went down into the wide gardens of the house to enjoy the fresh morning air in comfort. It was an hour when those gardens seldom possessed a tenant, but at the turn of the first walk he met Clémence de Marly alone. She seemed to be returning from the farther part of the grounds, and had her eyes bent upon the earth, with a thoughtful--nay, with even a melancholy look. If they had not been so near when he saw her, he might, perhaps, have turned to avoid a meeting which he feared; but she was within a few steps, and raised her eyes instantly as she heard the sound of approaching feet. The colour came into her cheek as she saw him, but only slightly, and she acknowledged his salutation by a graceful inclination of the head. "You are an early riser, Mademoiselle de Marly," said the Count, as she paused to speak with him. "I have always been so," she answered. "I love the soft breath of the morning air." "It is one of the great secrets of health and beauty," rejoined the Count; But she shook her head with a smile, saying,-- "Such are not my objects in early rising, Monsieur de Morseiul. Health I scarcely value as it deserves, as I never knew the want of it; and beauty I value not at all.--It is true! whatever you may think." "Still, beauty has its value," replied the Count. "It is a grand and noble gift of God; but I acknowledge it ought to be the mint mark of the gold." "It is one of the most dangerous gifts of Heaven," replied Clémence, vehemently. "It is often one of the most burdensome! It is dangerous to ourselves, to our own hearts, to our own eternal happiness. It is burdensome in all its consequences. Too much beauty to a woman is like overgrown wealth to a man:--with this sad difference, that he can always do good with his possession, and she can do none with hers. And now Monsieur de Morseiul thinks me a hypocrite; and, though he promised ever to be straightforward with me, he will not say so." "Nay, indeed," replied the Count, "I am far from thinking that there is aught of hypocrisy in what you say, lady. I may think such feelings and thoughts evanescent with you, but I believe you feel them at the time." Clémence shook her head with a melancholy--almost a reproachful look. "They are not evanescent," she said earnestly. "They are constant, steadfast; have been for years." Even while she spoke she turned to leave him; and he thought, as she quickly averted her head, that there was something like a tear in her bright eye. He could not resist; and he followed her rapidly, saying, "I hope I have not offended."