"Oh, hear me to the end, my sister!" said Gabriel. "I say again, nothing has changed, and nothing will ever change, this ardent--devotion which I have consecrated to you; and more than that, I am only too happy to think and to say that whatever happens to me, it will always be not only my blessed privilege, but my bounden duty, to love you. But what is the nature of this sentiment? God only knows, alas! but we shall soon know too, I hope. Meanwhile, this is what I have to ask of you, my sister: trusting in the Lord and your father, do you leave everything to Providence and my friendship, hoping nothing, but not despairing either. Understand me, pray! You told me long ago that you loved me; and pardon my presumption, but I seem to feel in my heart that you can love me still if our fate so wills. Now, my wish is to lessen the too distressing effect of my mad words when I parted from you at the Louvre. We must not deceive ourselves with vain imaginings, nor, on the other hand, believe that everything is over for us in this world. We must wait. In a short time I shall come to you and say one of two things. Either this: 'Diane, I love you; remember our childhood and your promises. You must be mine, Diane; and we must resort to every possible means to obtain the king's consent.' Or else I shall say to you: 'My sister, an irresistible fatality stands in the way of our love, and opposes our happiness; we are in no way to blame for it, and it is something more than human--yes, almost divine--which stands between us, my sister. I give you back your promise; you are free. Give your life to another; you cannot be blamed for it, nor even, alas! are you to be pitied. No; our tears, even, would be out of place. Let us bow our heads without a word, and accept with resignation our inevitable destiny. You will always be dear and holy in my eyes; but our two lives, which may still, thank God! be lived side by side, can never be united.'" "What a strange and fearful enigma!" Madame de Castro, lost in terrified thought, could not refrain from saying. "An enigma," responded Gabriel, "of which I can give you the key-word at that time, no doubt. Until then it will be in vain that you seek to discover the secret, my sister; so be patient, and pray. Promise me, at least, that you believe in my loyalty to you, and that you will no longer cherish the purpose of renouncing the world to bury yourself in a cloister. Promise me that you will have faith and hope, even as you have already had charity." "Faith in you and hope in God; yes, I can readily promise that now, my brother. But why do you wish me to promise to return to the world if I am not to go thither in your company? Is not my heart enough? And why do you wish that I should give my life to you as well, when, after all, it may not be to you that I devote it? Within and without, everything is dark, O God!"