It happened, perhaps fortunately, that Monsieur de Villardin's new station in the army had prevented my being with him so continually as during our former campaigns. Thus the great change that had taken place in my habits and my feelings had not been so constantly brought before him as it otherwise would have been. It had not, however, passed without remark; and the consequences were totally different from those which would most probably have followed, had he known the causes of the melancholy that oppressed me. The desire of keeping me near him, which he had expressed on my last return to Brittany, was now increased to a positive determination of not suffering me to be absent from him; and, when I faintly proposed to remain behind him in Paris, and to see somewhat of the Court, in which were now just bursting forth the dawnings of that full blaze of magnificence which it ultimately displayed, he laid his hand affectionately upon my arm, replying--"No, no, my dear Juvigny; you must come with me into the calm quiet of the country. You have over-exerted both your mind and your body; and I see that you are always better and happier when you are with me in Brittany."

I had not strength of mind to say no; and, besides, I had persuaded myself that neither danger nor harm could accrue from my following the course he pointed out. We returned, therefore, to Brittany, after a very short stay in Paris. The journey seemed an eternity; and, when once I was embarked in it, more than one misgiving as to my own resolution and firmness certainly did cross my heart. It was now, however, too late to retreat; and at length the carnage stopped before the grey towers of the PrÉs VallÉe. Our coming had been notified beforehand; and Laura instantly ran out to welcome her father. It seemed to me that every hour since I had left her had added some new charm to features that before had seemed perfection; had given some additional grace to a form which had before appeared in my eyes symmetry itself. From her father she turned to me; but I felt her hand tremble in mine, and her cheek burned as my lips touched it. Her eyes, too, sought the ground of the terrace; and her words of welcome were warm, indeed, but faltering and low. Everything told me that the discovery which had taken place in my own heart had been made also by hers, and that, whether she could return my affection or not, she was no longer unconscious of my love. It is scarcely possible to explain what were my feelings at that moment. I was agitated--I was even pained; and yet the joy of seeing her again, and, perhaps, a fancy, too, that my affection was not without return, were sufficient to outweigh, for the moment, all the apprehensions, and sorrows, and anxieties which were cast into the other scale. Her first embarrassment wore away in an instant; and it was easy to see that, whatever she had discovered, none of the pains and sorrows which had become so familiar to my mind, had, as yet, presented themselves to her eyes.

While little Clement de la Marke was claiming his share of welcome, Monsieur de Villardin and I turned to meet Father Ferdinand, who was now coming out to receive us. I had not seen him for nearly three years; and that space of time seemed to have effected a greater change in him than in any of the rest of the party, with the exception, indeed, of Laura, who, from a sweet, graceful girl, had grown into a beautiful woman. He was now, certainly, an old man; and a considerable inclination of his head, marked, but not undignified, had taken near two inches from his height since last I saw him. He embraced me as a father would do a son, and asked me anxiously what was the cause of the sad change he remarked in my once robust and muscular frame? As he spoke, I saw Laura's eyes seek mine with an expression of anxiety and apprehension which was painfully sweet to my heart. She spoke not, however; and I replied to Father Ferdinand, attempting to smile gaily as I did so.

"You must remember, my good Father," I answered, "I am no longer a boy, and may well be expected to lose the plump, smooth-faced roundness of my youth: besides, I have seen some hard service; and more than eighteen years which I have now spent--ever more or less in the tented field--may well be supposed to take away a great deal from one's youthful freshness."

Laura sighed deeply, and Father Ferdinand gravely shook his head; and I could see distinctly that neither the one nor the other gave credit to the reasons I assigned for my altered appearance. No more questions, however, were asked; and all the bustle and the little tittle-tattle of a first arrival in the country carried us well and lightly over the evening. I dreaded, it is true, the coming of the next morning; for now that I was in the midst of the peril, I had become apprehensive of myself; I felt that each night I should have to thank God if I had done nothing wrong; I felt that every day would bring a renewed struggle against myself; I felt that I should look to every sunrise with dread, lest I should fail in resolution during the coming day. Even the sweetest and dearest feelings of my heart were causes of apprehension. Every look, every word, of Laura de Villardin was to me a subject of delight, so bright, so deep, that, conscious of all which was going on within my bosom, I feared the joy I felt in her society would each instant betray itself to others. But that fear was not all that embittered the enjoyment. I felt now but too keenly that I was nurturing a passion which must end in misery; and that the sweet, sweet draught, which I was draining to the dregs, was mingled with poison which must speedily take effect. Yet now that I grasped the cup, with the full knowledge of all that it contained, I would not have resigned it for a world till the last drop had been drained. I listened to the tones of her voice, I hung upon her every smile; and when, during the evening, with her fair arms thrown round little Clement de la Marke, she listened while the boy repeated enthusiastically how very very kind I had been to him during his illness, I gazed upon her beaming countenance till she turned her eyes towards me with a look of sweet applause; and the feelings of my heart becoming too overpowering to be mastered, I quitted the room hastily, lest the mingled emotions should make a woman of me, and overflow at my eyes.

How the night passed, it were useless to relate. Agitation such as I felt, sleeps but little; and with the grey dawn, I plunged into the woods and wandered on wildly, seeking to gain command over myself ere I encountered any of the family. For nearly two hours I pursued a varying and irregular path, avoiding the hamlets and scattered cottages that here and there sheltered themselves in the edges of the wood surrounding the PrÉs VallÉe, and walking on, now quick, now slow, amongst the gloom of the old trees, and by the dim banks of the silent stream. Bitter, bitter was my commune with my own heart, and little way did I make in the attempt to vanquish emotions that seemed to become more turbulent under reflection. Following solely as my guide the desire of avoiding a meeting with any human being, I scarcely knew which way I turned, till at length I found myself within a few yards of the grave of the unhappy Count de Mesnil. Some impulse, I do not well know what,--whether there was a latent sympathy in my bosom with the love, however mad and vicious, which had been expiated by his death, or whether there was alone that thirst of calm repose which was to be found nowhere but in the grave, I cannot tell,--but some impulse caused me to cast myself down upon the turf that covered his remains, and, giving way to all the bitterest feelings of my heart, I wept aloud, fervently wishing that I might soon find a quiet resting-place like that.

Ere I had been there a moment, I heard a flutter of female garments bending over me; and raising my eyes, I beheld Laura de Villardin with her eyes full of tears at the suffering which she saw me endure without being able to account for. I started up, and, in the agitation of the moment, gazed upon her without salutation, while she exclaimed,--"Oh, tell me--do tell me, dear De Juvigny, what is it makes you so unhappy?"

My firmness was gone before--my good resolution vanished, and pressing the hand that she held out to me to my lips and to my heart, I told her all--how deeply, how passionately I loved her. With the warm blood crimson over her cheek and forehead, she sank down in my arms and hid her face upon my bosom, while a tear or two sprang up in her eyes, and shone like living diamonds amongst her long dark eyelashes. It was but for a moment that, yielding to woman's first impulse, she hid her face; but then, raising her look to mine, as, sitting on the very grave of De Mesnil, I held her circled in my arms, she asked,--"And is that all? Do I not love you too?"

The hardest and bitterest part of the task was still to come. I had to tell her how hopeless was our love, which her ignorance of the world had not suffered her to perceive; and although I thought I had no right to inform her that her father destined her for another, which I found he himself had not yet communicated, yet I had to explain to her that our union was quite impossible.

"But are we not very happy as we are?" she asked. "Why make yourself wretched by thinking of what you acknowledge cannot be? Why not let us live on as we now are, loving each other more dearly than anything else in life--seeing each other every day--spending our whole days together? Why not let us live thus, and be as happy as we have hitherto been?"

I had to crush the bright bubble for ever. "But," I said, "when you are required to marry some other, Laura, what will then become of me?"

"Oh, but I will never marry any one else!" she replied, eagerly: "no, no, I love you; and if I cannot marry you, of course no one else shall ever have my hand!"

"But listen to me, dear Laura," I replied. "Suppose your father makes it a command; can you disobey? Suppose he comes to you and tells you that he has plighted his word and engaged his honour that you shall be the bride of some man equal in fortune and station to yourself--will you refuse to redeem his pledge? will you offend him for ever, and bring upon him the imputation of breaking his word? Can you do it, Laura?"

She wept bitterly, and I felt that those tears were a sufficient reply; I was gaining more firmness myself, also, from the very arguments I used; and I went on.--"No, no, dear Laura, we must both try to do our duty: I love you beyond everything on earth; and it would nearly destroy me to see you the wife of another: but yet let us make up our minds to that which cannot be avoided. We can never forget, we can never wholly cease to love each other; but we must make an effort to conquer our love, at least so far as to render it no longer dangerous or wrong: we must try to rule it by reason and by resolution, and to reduce it, if possible, to that affection which brother and sister may feel towards each other."

"Then you must help me--then you must guide me, De Juvigny," she replied; "you must teach me that which is right to do; for I feel, indeed I feel that I am incapable of guiding myself."

"It is a terrible task, Laura--it is a terrible task," I replied--"for a heart that loves like mine, to teach you how our love is to be conquered; and yet the very responsibility will, I trust, enable me to execute it well: but, hark! I hear a step," and I started up.

"It is only Lise," she replied: "I sent her back for a book; but she knows all about it. She first told me I loved you months ago."

I wished no confidantes to a passion so hopeless as ours; but ere I could think, Lise was too near us to avoid her, and Laura's eyes told too distinctly a part of our story, to leave her ignorant of the remainder. She was a good and affectionate, but somewhat romantic creature; and though the suivante would have been the last to counsel her mistress to anything that she believed to be wrong, yet she had too much knowledge of the human heart to believe that a deep-rooted passion could ever be eradicated by the means that we proposed to employ; and her notions of what would be proper under such cases were likewise very different from ours. As soon as, by one means or another, she had made herself mistress of all that had passed, and had heard our difficulties and our resolutions, she shook her head, exclaiming,--"That will never do! No, no, Monsieur de Juvigny, there is only one way for it. Such love as yours and Mademoiselle's is not to be conquered as you think, and it must have its way, or worse will come of it. I have been thinking ever since you were here last, of what would be best to do, for I very well saw the whole business then, and quite understood that Monsieur the Duc would never consent. However, I have a scheme for you; you must marry privately: I know a good priest at Rennes who will undertake to perform the ceremony; and then, when it is found out, which it certainly will be in time, Monsieur de Villardin will be very angry at first, of course; but then he will soon forgive you, and it will be all settled."

Laura was silent; and as her hand rested on my arm, I could feel it tremble violently. For my part, I own that--though poor Lise meant no harm--yet, had she been the very fiend himself, she could not have tempted me more dreadfully. Honour, however, overcame; and after a long, painful pause, I answered,--"No, no, Lise! Monsieur de Villardin is my friend, my benefactor, my more than father, and I cannot betray his trust."

"But is not Mademoiselle, here, your friend, your love, and your more than sister?" answered Lise, laughing; "and will you make her unhappy for ever? But never mind; I knew that you would talk a great deal of that kind of nonsense whenever I came to propose it; but you'll see you will both be of my opinion before a fortnight be over, and then it will be,--'Pray, good Lise, seek the priest;' and as I am the best creature in the world, I will seek the priest. So when you have made up your minds to do the only thing that can save you both from a great deal of unhappiness, let me know, and I will arrange all the rest."

Thus saying, she turned away and walked a short distance towards the chÂteau, in order to leave Laura and myself time to speak together alone. As soon as she was gone, the dear girl raised her eyes to mine, and said,--"We must not do it, De Juvigny--we must not do it! It would be very happy, doubtless, to know that nothing could ever separate us, but it would be at the expense of your honour and my duty, and we must not do it. But, hark! there is the breakfast hour striking: we must go back separate; but you must, indeed you must tell me how I am to act, and what I am to do, to conquer all these feelings, and guard myself against wrong. We will walk out together to-morrow morning, as we used to do, and you shall give me my lesson."

But consciousness had, as usual, taken from me my bold firmness. I was not certain that any step that I was taking was right, and therefore I dreaded that any one should discover all that was passing between myself and Laura. "It will be better, dear Laura," I replied, "for us to meet in some part of the woods--at all events till we have fully determined the line of conduct we are to pursue. Let us have time to think and judge for ourselves before any one else perceives our feelings towards each other, and assumes the right of judging for us. Where shall I meet you to-morrow?"

"Since you have been away," she answered, "I have been much in the habit of coming out in the summer mornings to read under this tree. It is one of the finest round about, and if you remark, there is a little kind of rise in the soft turf at its foot, which serves me for a seat."

It was the grave of Monsieur de Mesnil to which she pointed; and certainly the memories connected with that spot did not render the feelings of my heart less sad. I replied, however, "Well, let us meet here: we are less likely to be disturbed here, perhaps, than elsewhere."

"That was one of the reasons why I used to love the place," replied Laura: "I never found any one here yet but Father Ferdinand, whom I one day saw kneeling at his beads beneath this tree; but it is almost always lonely, and I used to come here with a book, and sometimes read a little; but more often think of you and my father, and pray God to shield you both from all the dangers of the war. Let us part, however, now; for it is growing late, and I must wash my eyes before any one sees me."

I pressed her to my heart, and I pressed my lips to hers--I acted very wrong in so doing, I know; but, as I have said, this book is a confession, and therefore I tell all--I pressed her to my heart, and I pressed my lips to hers, and then we parted, to meet again the next morning at the same spot.

My next private interview was one with Father Ferdinand. I saw, during breakfast, that he was anxious to speak with me; but the feeling of consciousness to which I have before referred, made me as desirous of avoiding any particular conversation with him now as I had formerly been willing and pleased to enjoy his society alone. As soon as the meal was over, then, I turned, as if to seek my own apartments, but in reality intending to take my hat and once more go out into the park. So well acquainted, however, was Father Ferdinand with the turns of the human heart, and the actions that all those various turns are likely to produce, that he met me at the gate at the very moment I was setting out; and, laying his hand upon my arm, he said, "I am about to take my walk with you, my son."

I had now no excuse for avoiding his society, and we walked on together, proceeding for the first few minutes in silence. He then began the conversation by telling me that he felt deeply and personally all the care and kindness that I had bestowed upon Clement de la Marke. "I have spoken with the little fellow long this morning," he said, "and from all that he has told me, I must say that, had you been his own father, or his brother, you could not have shown him more judicious kindness."

I knew the good priest too well, and the exact proportion of kindly subtlety which tempered a disposition that was naturally candid, to believe that his sole object in thus forcing me, as it were, into a private interview with him, was to commend my behaviour to the little page. Nevertheless, though I understood all this very well, yet he went on so long and so skilfully, speaking upon that subject, and the events of the campaign alone, that I was thrown off my guard, and found myself detailing many of the occurrences that had taken place, more at large than I had intended, or perhaps desired. Observing me pause, as I found this to be the case, he replied, quietly, "It seems to me, my son, that in this last campaign you have exposed yourself a great deal more than was at all necessary; and, indeed, Clement has told me that you did so to such a degree, that it became a common observation, amongst both officers and soldiers, that you were seeking death. Tell me, my son," he added, in a more emphatic tone--"tell me, if you love me, what is the cause of that deep despondency, which you cannot conceal from one who, like myself, has watched you, with the affection of a father, for many years."

I felt that to deny the despondency was vain, and I did not choose to prevaricate concerning its cause. I replied, therefore, at once, "You must not ask me, my good father. At some time--and that ere long--I will tell you the whole. But rest satisfied at present with knowing that though, perhaps, as it seems was too apparent, I did seek Death wherever he was to be found, yet I have now learned to think better; and, whatever I may suffer, will make such frantic attempts no more."

"I trust that it will be so," replied Father Ferdinand--"I trust that it will be so. As you tell me not the cause of your suffering--and I will not pretend to know it--I can of course offer you no spiritual consolation; nevertheless, I can perhaps yield you some of a worldly kind. Therefore, let me beg you to remember, before you make yourself miserable about anything that this earth contains, that those things which seem the most hopeless are often, by a slight change of circumstances, brought within our reach. Let my own history be a warning to you. Born to a high rank, and to a princely fortune, from an early disappointment I abjured station, wealth, and the world, concealed myself in the cells of a foreign monastery, and when, at the end of twenty years, I came forth again in the humble state in which you now see me, I discovered that had I but paused three months ere I rendered my fate irrevocable, every obstacle which lay in my way would have been removed, and that all I sought might have been mine. Let it be a lesson to you, young man, and learn never to despair. Now, farewell; and when you are inclined to make me your confidant, you will always find that you have a sincere friend."

Thus saying, he turned away, and left me to pursue my walk alone. What he told me was, indeed, intended to produce a good effect; but, nevertheless, the consequences might have been very evil. He raised up again hopes that were better crushed. He conjured up dreams that were only calculated to mislead; and for the first half hour, believing that he had seen the real cause of all I suffered, and thought it right, from some other knowledge that I did not possess, to encourage my hopes, I gave myself up to visions of joy. Then, however, came the remembrance that Monsieur de Villardin had promised the hand of his daughter to the Count de Laval; and recollecting that he had not informed Laura herself of the fact, I saw clearly that he had not informed Father Ferdinand either. The good Priest, then, I concluded, had seen our love; and not knowing the engagement which bound the Duke to another, had believed that he might be moved by our mutual affection. Thus fled, once more, all my brilliant dreams; for I was too thoroughly acquainted with Monsieur de Villardin's stern adherence to his word, to believe that any circumstance would make him even think of withdrawing it.

That day passed without any farther incident of note. The next morning I again met Laura de Villardin; and each day, during the whole week that followed, we failed not to spend at least two or three hours together--I may call it alone; for Lise, who accompanied her, generally left us till it was time to part. It must not be thought, however, that these clandestine meetings were devoted to thoughts or feelings that all the world might not have witnessed. They were foolish, I grant, and only served to nourish the passion that we believed we were taking means and laying schemes to overcome. The proposal that Lise had made of a private marriage was never again mentioned between us. We never encouraged each other with false hopes, but admitted to our own hearts, in the fullest degree, that no chance existed of our union. The delight of being together we certainly did possess; and it was doubtless the secret desire of retaining at least that blessing which blinded our eyes to the imprudence of our continual meetings.

Our whole conversations were devoted to forming determinations of future firmness and resolution, mingled, indeed, with many a tear and many a caress; but certainly--however weak was our conduct--however much we suffered ourselves to be deceived by our own wishes--our intentions at least were good throughout the whole.

Thus passed the time, as painfully as it could well be conceived, till, one morning, as we were returning towards the chÂteau, while Laura--as we were still at some distance from the house--was hanging upon my arm, the form of Father Ferdinand appeared at a little distance in the alley before us. He saw us, beyond doubt, for he paused, turned out of the way he was pursuing, and left us to proceed to the house without speaking to us. What might be the event I knew not, but I saw him no more till supper, at which everything passed tranquilly, and we separated for the night.