"She is, indeed, lovely," he thought, "and she is, indeed, enchanting. If she would but give her heart way she is all that I pictured to myself, all that I dreamed of, though with a sad mixture of faults from which her original nature was free. But, alas! it is evident that she either does love or has loved another, and she herself confesses that she cannot love twice. Perhaps she has spoken thus plainly as a warning, and if so, how much ought I to thank her for her frankness? Besides, she is of another creed. I must dream upon this subject no more.--Yet who can be the man that has won that young heart, and then perhaps thought it not worth the wearing? Surely, surely it cannot be D'Evran, and yet she evidently likes his society better than that of any one. She seeks him rather than otherwise. How can I tell what may have passed, what may be passing between them even now? Yet she is evidently not at ease at heart, and he too told me but the other day that it was his determination never to marry. He--made for loving and being beloved!--he never marry!--It must be so; some quarrel has taken place between them, some breach which they think irremediable. How often is it when such things are the case that lovers will fancy that they are cool, and calm, and determined, and can live like friends and acquaintances, forgetting the warmer feelings that have once existed between them! Yes, it must be so," he continued, as he pondered over all the different circumstances; "it must be so, and they will soon be reconciled. I will crush these foolish feelings in my heart; I will banish all weak remembrances; and to do so effectually, I will quit this place as soon as possible, leaving Louis here, if he chooses to stay." Thus musing, with a sad heart and bitterer feelings than he would even admit to himself, Albert de Morseiul walked on in the direction which Clémence had pointed out, and passing through various long allies, planted in the taste of that day, arrived at a spot where some steps led up to the ramparts of the town, which commanded a beautiful view over the gently undulating country round Poitiers, with more than one little river meandering through the fields around. Leaning his arms on the low breastwork, he paused and gazed over a scene on which, at any other time, he might have looked with feelings of deep interest, and noted every little mound and tree, marking, as he was wont, each light and shadow, and following each turn of the Clain or Boivre. Now, however, there was nothing but a vague vision of green and sunny things before his eyes, while the sight of the spirit was fixed intensely upon the deeper and darker things of his own heart.