"Is it true?" said Brigitte, and her head, all radiant with love, was raised to heaven; "is it true that I am yours? Yes, far from this odious world in which you have grown old before your time--yes, my child, you are going to love. I will have you, such as you are, and wherever we go you will forget the day when you will no longer love me. My mission will have been accomplished, and I shall always be thankful for it."

Finally, we decided to go to Geneva and then choose some resting-place in the Alps. Brigitte was enthusiastic about the lake; I thought I could already breathe the air which floats over its surface and the odor of the verdure-clad valley; already Lausanne, Vevay, Oberland and beyond the summits of Monte Rosa and the immense plain of Lombardy; already, oblivion, repose, flight, all the delights of happy solitude, invited us; already, when in the evening with joined hands, we looked at one another in silence, we felt rising within us that sentiment of strange grandeur which takes possession of the heart on the eve of a long journey, mysterious and indescribable vertigo, which has in it something of the terrors of exile and the hopes of a pilgrimage. Are there not in the human mind wings that flutter and sonorous chords that vibrate? How shall I describe it? Is there not a world of meaning in the simple words: "All is ready, we are about to go"?

Suddenly, Brigitte became languid; she bowed her head and was silent. When I asked her if she was in pain, she said no, in a voice that was scarcely audible; when I spoke of our departure, she arose, cold and resigned, and continued her preparations; when I swore to her that she was going to be happy and that I would consecrate my life to her, she shut herself up in her room and wept; when I kissed her, she turned pale and averted her eyes as my lips approached hers; when I told her that nothing had yet been done, that it was not too late to renounce our plans, she frowned severely; when I begged her to open her heart to me and I told her I would die rather than cause her one regret, she threw her arms about my neck, then stopped and repulsed me as though involuntarily. Finally, I entered her room holding in my hand a ticket on which our places were marked for the carriage to Besancon. I approached her and placed it in her lap; she stretched out her hand, screamed and fell unconscious at my feet.

CHAPTER II

ALL my efforts to divine the cause of so unexpected a change were as vain as the questions I had first asked. Brigitte was ill and obstinately remained silent. After an entire day passed in supplication and conjecture, I went out without knowing where I was going. Passing the Opera, I entered it from force of habit.