“Yes, you are in love with some one else. Some one who has not been a coward like me, who has known how to divine your thoughts, to understand you, to be worthy of you, while I--well, I have lost my happiness by my own fault. It’s just, but it means unhappiness to one who loves you.” He stopped and gave a heavy sob. “Raymond,” she said, trembling, “I beg of you. Don’t talk like this.” “I don’t accuse you. I’m the guilty one. And your happiness is dearer to me than my own.” “Raymond, listen to me.” He was beaten, and with sinking heart he let himself fall heavily into an armchair, hiding his head in his hands, heedless of the show of weakness he made with his tears. She took off her hat with a rapid movement, as a sick-nurse puts off unnecessary garments the better to do her work, and taking hold of his hands, she pulled them aside masterfully. “Look at me, Raymond.” She gave her commands, not imperiously, after the fashion of her father, but with persuasive sweetness. She was not constrained any more, no longer assumed the defensive, but came to him in all simplicity. Mechanically he submitted to her ascendancy, and obeyed her. The moment he looked at her, indeed, he ceased to weep. The girl appeared as if transfigured. A look of ecstasy lighted up her pallor. Her eyes glowed with an expression more than human, the expression of those who find peace beyond the agitations and passions that are the moving testimony of our life. She bore in her living features the same serenity that one sees on the faces of the dead that are asleep with God. There was no further trace of sorrow on her bloodless cheeks, or in her bruised eyes, only a deep calm, unalterable, almost frightening. “Margaret, what is it?” he implored in anguish, like one who cries out to a comrade upon the brink of an abyss. “Raymond, listen to me,” she repeated. “Yes, I love some one else.” “Ah, I knew it!” “Another, of whom you cannot be jealous. I shall never marry. I shall never be the wife of any one. I shall take another path. And yet I am so imperfect that just now when you were speaking to me, I was guilty of a feeling of pride. I am proud still. It is a fault of my people. But we have been so tried, we truly have had to grow a little stiff.” A frail smile outlined itself at the corner of her mouth, then disappeared, as if to leave the purity of her motionless features undisturbed. She went on, while he said nothing, subdued by the mysterious potency that spread around her: “No, I shall not forget that you have chosen the hour of my greatest distress to come to me.” He mourned over her like a child. “I love you.” “I must not love any more, Raymond. I have heard another call than yours. I’m going to tell you a secret that no one knows, not even my father. I don’t hesitate to tell it to you. Keep it for me. When I lost my mother I promised God to take her place in our home that has been so ravaged by misfortune.” “Haven’t you done that?” “I’m not through yet.”