"Of what are you thinking?" asked Juliana, who, up to then, perhaps, during my silence, had suffered only on account of my sorrow.
I did not conceal my thoughts from her. And she, in a voice that came from the depths of her heart, feeble, but more penetrating than a cry, murmured:
"Oh! I had a heaven for you in my soul."
After a long pause, during which, doubtless, she was driving back to her heart the tears that did not come, she said: "I cannot console you now, any more. There is consolation neither for you nor for me; there never will be ... All is lost."
"Who knows?" I said.
We looked at each other. It was evident that at that instant we were both thinking of the same thing—of Raymond's possible death.
After hesitating a moment, I alluded to the conversation we had had one evening beneath the elms:
"Have you prayed?"
My voice trembled greatly.
She answered (I scarcely heard her):