Belle-Rose — page 170: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

| _ the cares with which he surrounded me. Perhaps I was away during the morning with a young man. A guard THE CONFESSION OF A MAGDALEN. 159 even more attached to him than I let it appear; but my position called for an extreme reserve, and I never let him see how much I was touched by his love. We were often to be seen together in the park. These innocent walks were the cause of his death. One day as I was waiting for him in a path where we were accustomed to meet, he did not come. At dinner I was informed that he had gone had seen them talking ina lively manner and then go away together. A vague inquietude seized me, and I rose from the table in a state of agitation which I could not subdue. When misfortune touches us with its wing, we have these kind of presentiments. An hour after two woodmen brought back to the chateau the Spaniard, whom they had found in a corner of the wood, his breast traversed by a sword thrust. There was no longer any hope to save him. When he saw me, he took my hands in his, kissed them, and died. Never shall I forget the ex- pression of his last looks; they were so sad and so full of love, that I began to weep like amadwoman. It seemed to me at that moment that I also loved him and that Ll was losing with him my last hope.’’ **And the murderer’s name?’’ said Belle-Rose. ‘I found it out later on; as to my poor friend, he died with his secret in his heart and my name upon his lips. Three days after I received a letter from Monsieur d’As- sonville; it was dated from Paris and informed me that, having returned from a secret mission to Italy, he was | about to leave for England, where he was sent by an order from Cardinal Mazarin. He would not be gone long and begged me to count upon him. It was to be seen that he still loved me, but his language was more grave. Besides, it did not appear that he had received any of my letters. ‘This mission, which was to last fifteen days or three weeks, was still unfinished at the end of three months. My father had returned. My days fled like somber dreams, and at night | wept.. My thoughts went from Gaston to Don Pedro—that was my cousin’s name—and I must ac- _ knowledge, my sympathies and my regrets were for him who was nomore, He had loved and consoled me; the other had ruined'me. It happened one evening that Mon- sieur d’Assonville’s name was pronounced by a gentleman who was visiting us. At this name, my father flew into an unexpected rage, and 1 learned that Monsieur de La Noue had been beaten and wounded in an encounter with (E(0) = | 3 Eomicbooks