than any of the others.  Perhaps, in some mysterious way, it was written under the influence of the storm which was rending the heavens while I, bent over my table, with moist brow and dry, burning hand, drew this frenzied picture of my sufferings.  A great calm, akin to despair, seemed to come over me as I threw myself upon my bed after going down to the drawing-room and slipping my letter into Edmee’s work-basket.  Day was breaking, and the horizon showed heavy with the dark wings of the storm, which was flying to other regions.  The trees, laden with rain, were tossing under the breeze, which was still blowing freshly.  Profoundly sad, but blindly resigned to my suffering, I fell asleep with a sense of relief, as if I had made a sacrifice of my life and hopes.  Apparently Edmee did not find my letter, for she gave me no answer.  She generally replied verbally, and these letters of mine were a means of drawing from her those professions of sisterly friendship with which I had perforce to be satisfied, and which, at least, poured soothing balm into my wound.  I ought to have known that this time my letter must either lead to a decisive explanation, or be passed over in silence.  I suspected the abbe of having taken it and thrown it into the fire; I accused Edmee of scorn and cruelty; nevertheless, I held my tongue.

The next day the weather was quite settled again.  My uncle went for a drive, and during the course of it told us that he should not like to die without having had one last great fox-hunt.  He was passionately devoted to this sport, and his health had so far improved that he again began to show a slight inclination for pleasure and exercise.  Seated in a very light, narrow berline, drawn by strong mules, so that he might move rapidly over the sandy paths in our woods, he had already followed one or two little hunts which we had arranged for his amusement.  Since the Trappist’s visit, the chevalier had entered, as it were, upon a fresh term of life.  Endowed with strength and pertinacity, like all his race, it seemed as if he had been decaying for want of excitement, for the slightest demand on his energy immediately set his stagnant blood in motion.  As he was very much pleased with this idea of a hunt, Edmee undertook to organize, with my help, a general battue and to join in the sport herself.  One of the greatest delights of the good old man was to see her on horseback, as she boldly pranced around his carriage and offered him all the flowering sprigs which she plucked from the bushes she passed.  It was arranged that I should ride with her, and that the abbe should accompany the chevalier in the carriage.  All the gamekeepers, foresters, huntsmen, and even poachers of Varenne were invited to this family function.  A splendid meal was prepared with many goose-pies and much local wine.  Marcasse, whom I had made my manager at Roche-Mauprat, and who had a considerable knowledge of the art of fox-hunting, spent two whole days in stopping up the