"Alas!" said Gilberte, "we must cease to meet for some time. We must do it; my father and Janille were present when your father's letter arrived. My poor father was dumb with joy, and understood nothing of the conditions at the end. He has expected you all day, and he will continue to expect you every day until I tell him that you are not coming, and then, I trust, that I shall be able to justify your conduct and your absence. But Janille will not excuse you for long; she is already beginning to be surprised and disturbed and irritated because your father seems to await your sanction to come and make a formal request for my hand. If you should tell her now what I insist upon your doing, she would curse you and banish you from my presence forever." "O my God!" cried Emile, "to see you no more! No, that is impossible!" "Why, my dear, what change will there be in our relations? Will you cease to love me because you do not see me for a few weeks, a few months, perhaps? Are we proposing to bid each other adieu forever? Do you no longer believe in me? Did we not anticipate obstacles, suffering, a period of separation?" "No, no," said Emile, "I anticipated nothing. I could not believe that this would happen! I cannot believe it yet!" "O my dear Emile! do not be weak when I need all my strength. You have sworn to overcome your father's opposition, and you will do it. Here is one of his most tremendous efforts which we have defeated already. He was very sure beforehand that you would not accept dishonor, and he thinks that you will be discouraged so easily! He doesn't know you. You will persist in loving me, and in telling him so, and in proving it to him every day. Come, the hardest part of it is over, since he knows all, and, instead of being indignant and grieved, he accepts the battle with a smile, like a game of cards in which he believes himself the more skilful. So have courage; I will have plenty of it. Do not forget that our union is the work of several years of perseverance and faithful toil. Adieu, Emile, I hear my father's voice coming nearer and I must fly. Stay here, and do not go on until we are well out of the way." "To see you no more!" murmured Emile; "to hear your voice no more, and still have courage?" "If you lack courage, Emile, it will be because you do not love me as much as I love you, and because our union does not promise happiness enough to induce you to fight hard and long." "Oh! I will have courage!" cried Emile, conquered by the noble-hearted girl's energy. "I will force myself to suffer and to wait. You will see, Gilberte, whether the happiness the future promises does not enable me to endure everything in the present. But can we not meet sometimes, by chance, as we met to-day, for instance?" "Who knows," said Gilberte. "Let us rely on Providence." "But one can sometimes assist Providence. Can we not invent some means of communication, of sending word to each other?--by writing, for instance?"