Julie has revealed to me the one trouble of her life. Her husband is a freethinker. Will you aid me in trying to convince him of his error, and thus perfecting Julie's happiness?
IV.--The Veil
FROM SAINT PREUX TO MADAME D'ORBE
Mylord Edouard and I, after leaving you all yesterday, proceeded no farther than Villeneuve; an accident to one of mylord's attendants delayed us, and we spent the night there.
As you know, I had parted from Julie with regret, but without violent emotion. Yet, strangely enough, when I was alone last night the old grief came back. I had lost her! She lived and was happy; her life was my death, her happiness my torment! I struggled with these ideas. When I lay down, they pursued me in my sleep.
At length I started up from a hideous dream. I had seen Julie stretched upon her death-bed. I knew it was she, although her face was covered by a veil. I advanced to tear it off; I could not reach it. "Be calm, my friend," she said feebly; "the veil of dread covers me, no hand can remove it." I made another effort, and awoke.
Again I slept, again I dreamt the dream. A third time I slept, a third time it appeared to me. This was too much. I fled from my room to mylord Edouard's.
At first, he treated the dream as a jest; but, seeing my panic-stricken earnestness, he changed his tune. "You will have a chance of recovering your reason to-morrow," he said. Next morning we set out on our journey, as I thought. Brooding over my dream, I never noticed that the lake was on the left-hand of the carriage, that we were returning. When I roused myself, I found that we were back again at Clarens!
"Now, go and see her again; prove that the dream was wrong," said Edouard.
I went nervously, feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself. I could hear you and Julie talking in the garden. I was cured in an instant of my superstitious folly; it fled from my mind. I retired without seeing her, feeling a man again. I rejoined mylord Edouard, and drove back to Villeneuve. We are about to resume the journey to Rome.