And what weeks those were that followed, when we met almost every day, and I did not exist for your glance! 'She will never, never forgive me,' I said to myself, and the thought tore my heart. I was sincere when I determined to exchange into another regiment, to leave Saint-Mihiel; sincere when I tried, before my departure, which I believed to be final, to speak with you once more. I felt that I must explain my action to you, must make you understand that no degrading thought of seduction had entered my mind, that I must have been demented, that I had never for one second ceased to have such unbounded esteem and respect for you! Ah! I shall be very old, very cold-blooded, when I am able to recall without tears--see, they are coming to my eyes now!--your face on that day, your eyes, the tone in which you said to me: 'I have forgotten everything. Give me your word that that moment of aberration shall never return, and I will see you as before. I do not wish your life to be turned topsy-turvy because of me.'--While you were speaking, I was saying to myself--that hour is so vivid to me!--I was saying to myself: 'To breathe the air that she breathes, to see her go to and fro, to continue to hear her voice, there is no price I will not pay.' And you marked out the programme of our relations in the future. You said that the world did not place much credit in a disinterested friendship between a man and a woman, but that you did believe in such a thing provided that both were really loyal. I could repeat, syllable for syllable, every word that you said that afternoon. I listened while you said them, with an utterly indescribable sensation, of assuagement and exaltation as well, through my whole being. It was as if I had seen your very soul think and feel. Yes, I solemnly promised you then that, if you would admit me once more to your intimacy, I would be that friend that you gave me leave to be, and nothing more. That promise I have the right to say again that I have kept. I declare that I would continue to keep it if the circumstances had remained the same. But they have changed. Ah! madame, if one could read another's heart, I would beseech you to look into mine. You would see there that at the news of the misfortune which befell you, I had no selfish reflection concerning that change. I thought only of your grief, your solitude, your orphan child. So long as the catastrophe was recent, I was ashamed even to glimpse a new horizon before me--before us. But I cannot prevent life from being life. At twenty-seven a woman is entitled to reconstruct her life without offending in any wise the memory of him who is no more. On my part, I am not breaking my plighted word when I say: 'Madame, the worship, the adoration that I had for you three years ago, and that you justly forbade me to express to you then, I still entertain. My silence regarding my sentiments since that time is a guarantee of their depth. I