The next day I returned to Paris, and by a free use of my purse extracted from the porter the information that Mme. Gaston was legally married.
His reply to my question took the form, "Yes, Miss."
July 15th.
My dear, my love for Gaston is stronger than ever since that morning, and he has every appearance of being still more deeply in love. He is so young! A score of times it has been on my lips, when we rise in the morning, to say, "Then you love me better than the lady of the Rue de la Ville l'Eveque?" But I dare not explain to myself why the words are checked on my tongue.
"Are you very fond of children?" I asked.
"Oh, yes!" was his reply; "but children will come!"
"What makes you think so?"
"I have consulted the best doctors, and they agree in advising me to travel for a couple of months."
"Gaston," I said, "if love in absence had been possible for me, do you suppose I should ever have left the convent?"
He laughed; but as for me, dear, the word "travel" pierced my heart. Rather, far rather, would I leap from the top of the house than be rolled down the staircase, step by step.—Farewell, my sweetheart. I have arranged for my death to be easy and without horrors, but certain. I made my will yesterday. You can come to me now, the prohibition is removed. Come, then, and receive my last farewell. I will not die by inches; my death, like my life, shall bear the impress of dignity and grace.