She was certainly looking more lovely than ever; and he could not but feel that, even in her very gayest and most sparkling moods, there was a charm wanting in comparison with her more serious and thoughtful aspect. Clémence was now evidently a good deal agitated. It often happens, when we have an act of importance to perform, especially when that act is unusual to us, that even in revolving it in our own minds, and preparing for the moment, we overpower ourselves, as it were, by the force of our own thoughts, and, by guarding against agitation, give agitation the better opportunity to assail us. Albert of Morseiul saw that Clémence was much moved, and he prepared to soothe her by every means in his power. The only efficacious means being to draw her attention to ordinary things. "Let me offer you my arm," he said in a kindly tone; and leading her on, he spoke of the beauty of the morning, and then of Anette de Marville, and then of other indifferent things. Clémence seemed to understand his object; and though she at first smiled, as if to intimate that she did so, she gave her mind up to his guidance, and for five or ten minutes touched upon no subject but the most ordinary topics of conversation. As they approached the rampart, however, and she had an opportunity of looking along it, and ascertaining that there was no one there, she said,-- "Now I am better, now I can speak of other things.--Monsieur de Morseiul," she continued, "although I am accustomed to do extraordinary things, and to behave, in many respects, unlike other people, I dare say you do not suppose that I would have taken the very bold step of asking any gentleman to meet me here, as I have done you this day, without a motive sufficient to justify me, even in your sight." "I am quite sure of it," replied the Count; "and though you may think me, perhaps, a harsh censor, I am not at all inclined to be so in your case." "Indeed?" she said, with a somewhat mournful shake of the head; "Indeed?--But, however, Monsieur de Morseiul, what I have to tell you is substantial, real, and more important than any feelings or inclinations. I shall have to pain you--to grieve you--to call up apprehensions--to prepare you, perhaps, for suffering! Oh God!" she cried, bursting suddenly into tears, "that I should have to do this!" The Count took her hand and pressed it to his lips, and besought her to be calm and soothed. "Do not be apprehensive, do not be grieved," he said: "calm yourself, dear lady, calm yourself, Clémence! I am prepared for much sorrow; I am prepared for danger and anxiety. I have for some time seen nothing but clouds and storms in the future!"