“Whom? Explain thyself.”
“Dame, monsieur; did not Madame d’Ionis give it to you?”
“Certainly not.”
“To be sure, monsieur is not bound to tell me. But it must be she who sent it back to you.”
“Hast thou seen any one from her house here to-day?”
“No, sir, no one. But whoever carried out the directions, nevertheless, knows the ways of the house.”
As I saw that I would gain nothing by the examination of material things, I bade Baptiste good-night and gave myself up to my accustomed reveries. This affair could no longer be explained naturally. This ring contained the secret of my destiny. I was grieved to disobey my immortal nymph, and at the same time I was happy in thinking that she was keeping her promise of watching over me.
I did not close my eyes that night. My poor head was sick as well as my heart. Ought I to disobey the arbitress of my destiny? Ought I to sacrifice my honor to her? I was too much involved with M. d’Aillane to retract my words. At times I entertained the thought of suicide so that I might escape from the torment of an existence which I no longer understood, and then I comforted myself with the idea that this terrible and delightful device—“Thy life belongs to me alone”—did not have the same meaning that I had at first supposed, and I resolved to pay no attention to it, persuading myself that the maiden would appear to me at the place of meeting, if she wished to prevent it.
But why did she not now appear to me in person if she wished to put an end to my perplexities? I called upon her with the ardor of despair.
“The trial is too long and too cruel,” said I, “it will cost me my life and my reason. If I must live for thee, if I belong to thee——.”