"To a power which may condemn me to leave you in a week—in a fortnight—in a month; and not only to leave you, but to leave France."
"Ah, Gaston! what do you tell me?"
"What in my love, or rather in my egotism, I have dreaded to tell you before. I shut my eyes to this hour, and yet I knew that it must come; this morning they were opened. I must leave you, Helene."
"But why? What have you undertaken? what will become of you?"
"Alas! Helene, we each have our secret," said the chevalier, sorrowfully; "I pray that yours may be less terrible than mine."
"Gaston!"
"Were you not the first to say that we must part, Helene? Had not you first the courage to renounce me? Well; blessings on you for that courage—for I, Helene, had it not."
And at these last words the young man again pressed his lips to her hand, and Helene could see that tears stood in his eyes.
"Oh, mon Dieu!" murmured she, "how have we deserved this misery?"
At this exclamation Gaston raised his head. "Come," said he, as if to himself, "courage! It is useless to struggle against these necessities; let us obey without a murmur, and perhaps our resignation may disarm our fate. Can I see you again?"