"Ah! Thérèse," he said, "I used to reproach you for loving too chastely and for being better adapted for the convent than for love. How could I have blasphemed thus? Since I have been trying to renew my acquaintance with vice, I feel myself that I am becoming as pure as in my childhood, and the women I see tell me that I would make a good monk. No, no, I shall never forget what there was between us above and beyond love, that motherly gentleness which watched over me for long hours with a placid, melting smile, those outpourings of the heart, those aspirations to a higher intelligence, that twofold poem of which we were the authors and the characters, without realizing it. Thérèse, if you do not belong to Palmer, you cannot belong to any one but me! with what other man can you find again those profound, ardent emotions? Were all our days unhappy? Were there not some delicious ones? Besides, is it happiness that you seek, you, the self-sacrificing woman? Can you do without suffering for some one, and did you not call me sometimes, when you pardoned my follies, your dear torment, your necessary torment? Remember, remember, Thérèse! You suffered, and you are alive. I made you suffer, and I am dying! Have I not atoned sufficiently? Three long months of death-agony for my heart!"
Then came reproaches. Thérèse had said too much or too little. Her expressions of friendship were too warm if it was only friendship, too cold and too reserved if it was love. She must have the courage either to give him new life or to kill him.
Thérèse decided to reply that she loved Palmer, and that she expected to love him forever, but did not speak of the projected marriage, which she could not make up her mind to consider as definitely decided upon. She softened as much as she could the blow that confession was certain to deal to Laurent's pride.
"Understand," she said, "that it is not, as you claimed, to punish you, that I have given my heart and my life to another. No, you were fully forgiven on the day that I responded to Palmer's affection, and I proved it by hurrying to Florence with him. Do you think, my poor child, that, when I nursed you as I did during your illness, I was there simply as a Sister of Charity? No, no, it was not duty that tied me to your bedside, but a mother's affection. Does not a mother always forgive? Well, it will be always so with me, as you will see! Whenever, without failing in my duty to Palmer, I can serve you, nurse you, and comfort you, you will find me ready. It is because Palmer makes no objection to that, that I am able to love him and do love him. If it had been necessary for me to pass from your arms into those of your enemy, I should have had a horror of myself; but it was just the opposite. Our hands met as we swore to each other that we would watch over you, would never abandon you."
Thérèse showed this letter to Palmer, who was deeply moved by it, and insisted upon writing to Laurent himself, to make similar promises of constant solicitude and true affection.
Laurent made them wait for another letter from him. He had begun to dream a new dream, and saw it fly away beyond hope of recall. He was deeply affected at first; but he resolved to shake off the sorrow which he felt that he had not the strength to bear. There took place in him one of those sudden and complete revolutions which were sometimes the scourge, sometimes the salvation, of his life; and he wrote to Thérèse:
"Bless you, my adored sister; I am happy, I am proud of your faithful friendship, and Palmer's cordial words moved me to tears. Why did you not speak sooner, bad girl? I should not have suffered so keenly. What did I crave, in truth? To know that you were happy, nothing more. It was because I thought that you were alone and sad, that I came and knelt again at your feet, and said: 'Since you are suffering, let us suffer together. I long to share your sorrows, your vexations, and your solitude.'—Was not that my duty and my right?—But you are happy, Thérèse, therefore so am I. I bless you for telling me. At last, I am delivered from the remorse that was gnawing at my heart! I can walk with my head erect, breathe freely, and say to myself that I have not marred and ruined the life of the best of friends. Ah! I am full of pride to feel within me this generous joy, instead of the horrible jealousy that formerly tortured me!
"Dear Thérèse, dear Palmer, you are my two guardian angels. You have brought me happiness. Thanks to you, I feel at last that I was born for something different from the life I have led. I am born again, I feel the air of heaven descend into my lungs, which thirst for a pure atmosphere. My being is transformed. I am going to love.
"Yes, I am going to love, I love already! I love a pure and lovely child who knows nothing of my love as yet, and in whose presence I take a mysterious pleasure in guarding the secret of my heart, and in appearing and acting as artless, as gay, as child-like as herself. Ah! how lovely they are, these first days of a newly-born emotion! Is there not something sublime and terrifying in this idea: 'I am going to betray myself, that is to say, I am going to give myself away! to-morrow, perhaps to-night, I shall cease to belong to myself'?
"Rejoice, my Thérèse, in this conclusion of your poor child's sad and insane youth. Say to yourself that this rehabilitation of a creature who seemed lost, and who, instead of crawling about in the mire, now spreads his wings like a bird, is the work of your love, your gentleness, your patience, your anger, your sternness, your forgiveness, and your friendship! Yes, it required all the changing scenes of a private drama in which I was vanquished to force me to open my eyes. I am your handiwork, your son, your labor and your reward, your martyrdom and your crown. Bless me, both of you, my friends, and pray for me: I am going to love!"
All the rest of the letter was in this strain. On receiving this hymn of joy and gratitude, Thérèse felt for the first time that her own happiness was complete and assured. She held out both hands to Palmer, and said:
"And now, when and where shall we be married?"