"In the first place, Gabriel, I felt that I must let you know why, after I received your message, I did not at once assume the veil you sent back to me, and enter some convent immediately, as I expressed my intention of doing in our last sad interview at Calais."
"Have I reproached you in the least as to that, Diane?" returned Gabriel. "I told André to say to you that I gave you back your promise, and those were no mere empty words on my part; I meant what I said."
"I also mean to become a nun, Gabriel, and be sure that I have simply postponed carrying out my resolve."
"But why, Diane,—why renounce the world in which you were made to shine?"
"Set your mind at rest upon that point, dear friend; it is not altogether to remain faithful to the oath I took, but to satisfy the secret longing of my soul as well, that I intend to leave this world where I have suffered so bitterly. I must have peace and rest, and I know not now where to find either except with God. Do not envy me this last refuge."
"Oh, but I do envy you!" said Gabriel.
"But you see," continued Diane, "I have had a good reason for not at once carrying out my unalterable purpose; I wished to be sure that you gratified the request I made in my last letter,—that you forbore to make yourself judge and executioner; that you did not attempt to anticipate God's will."
"If one only could anticipate it!" muttered Gabriel.
"In short, I hoped," Diane went on, "that I might be able, in case of need, to throw myself between the two men whom I love, but who abhor each other; and who can say that I might not thus prevent a disaster, or a crime? Surely you do not blame me for such a thought as that, Gabriel?"
"I cannot blame an angel for doing what the angelic nature prompts, Diane. You have been very generous, but it is easy to understand it of you."