A sudden illumination shone within me. I felt a happiness without knowing whence it came, a state for which the recollection of my engagement and perhaps too some rare intuition that vanity had not stifled in me, unconsciously had prepared me for, so that I stirred beneath it, like the earth at dawn. Some outward sign of it all must have shown in me, for Mme. de H-- asked: “What is the matter with you?” Her voice had suddenly become unfamiliar. “With me? Nothing.” “You are most peculiar this evening.” “I am over-tired; that’s all. I must go.” “Do you feel ill?” “Very well, on the contrary,” I replied, without thinking of my words. In the face of my incoherence she was clever enough to recognise the futility of insisting, and contented herself with seeking an appointment at some other time. “To-morrow, then, at our house?” “No, not to-morrow.” “When, then?” “I do not know--” I left her in her surprise and anger, and crossed the salon like a somnambulist. Amidst so many lights, I saw only one bright ray in front of me, and followed it as the kings of old their guiding star. My return did not change the tenour of my thoughts. In the vestibule I stopped. What was I going to do? Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the despair of my desertion and the anxiety of her illness. It would be better to wait until morning. To-morrow I would tell her.-- What should I tell her? Suspicions do not take the place of proofs. Why disturb her ignorance? No! No! I would be content to announce our departure for the Sleeping Woods as soon as she was able to make the journey. I had started toward my room when I caught the glimmer of the night light which filtered under her door. I approached it. It seemed to me that my base ambitions, my petty desires, my selfishness, my cruelty, even the impurity of my past fell from me like a discarded garment. Almost light-hearted, I turned to cross that inevitable threshold. I entered. From the depths of the bed a murmur reached me: “Is it you?” The little lamp shed only a tiny light. Scarcely did I distinguish her eyes which gazed at me fixedly. I did not say a word in reply. A sacred emotion overcame me. I turned to the nurse and told her to get some sleep in the next room, which had been prepared for her. She objected that Madame was depressed, although she had no fever. “I shall remain with her myself,” I replied. She showed me the medicines which had been prepared, and left the room. When the door closed, I went to Raymonde’s bedside, knelt, and resting my forehead on her hand which I had taken, softly uttered the necessary word, the first I had to say: “Forgive me.”