“Félicie d’Aillane, and I dare affirm your friend also, although you do not know me and I am seeing you for the first time. But the high opinion my brother has of you and all that he has written about you have caused me to feel a sincere interest in you. So it was with real sorrow and anxiety that I heard you sobbing. _Mon dieu!_ I hope that you are not grieving over any family affliction; if your worthy parents of whom I have also heard so much good, were in trouble, you would not be here.” “Thank God,” I replied, “I have no cause to distress myself about any of those dear to me, and the personal grief that I experienced just now was dispelled by the sound of your voice, by the sweet words you have spoken. But how does it happen that having such a sister as you, Bernard should never have mentioned it?” “Bernard is absorbed by an affection of which I am not in the least jealous, and that I very well understand, for madame is a tender sister to me. But did you not come with him, and how is it that I find you here alone and unannounced?” “Bernard went on before me.” “Ah! I understand. Well, let us leave them together a little longer; they have so much to say to each other, and their attachment is so noble, so fraternal, and of such long standing. But come by the fire in the library, for it is rather chilly here.” I saw that she did not think it proper to remain with me in the dark, and I followed her regretfully. I feared to see her face, for her voice deluded me into the belief that my immortal nymph was stopping to converse in common language with me, on details that concerned the world of the living. There was a fire and light in the library, and I could then see her features, which were marvelously beautiful and which in a vague fashion recalled those that I had thought well fixed in my mind. But while scrutinizing them as closely as politeness would permit, I realized that the three images of the Naiad, the phantom and that of Mademoiselle d’Aillane were so confused in my mind, that it was impossible for me to separate them so as to render to each one the admiration that was its due. It was the same type, of that I was very sure; but I could no longer decide what constituted the difference, and I perceived with fear this uncertainty of my memory in regard to the sublime apparition. I had brooded over it too much. I had put too much faith in seeing it again. It no longer appeared to me save through a cloud.