thoughts of this kind; but the sight of monsieur de Nemours revived them, and they crowded again into her mind; but when she had taken her fill of them, and remembered that this very man, whom she considered as a proper match for her, was the same she had loved in her husband's life-time, and was the cause of his death, and that on his death-bed he had expressed a fear of her marrying him; her severe virtue was so shocked at the imagination, that she thought it would be as criminal in her to marry monsieur de Nemours now, as it was to love him before: in short, she abandoned herself to these reflections so pernicious to her happiness, and fortified herself in them by the inconveniency which she foresaw would attend such a marriage. After two hours stay in this place she returned home, convinced that it was indispensably her duty to avoid the sight of the man she loved.
But this conviction, which was the effect of reason and virtue, did not carry her heart along with it; her heart was so violently fixed on the duke de Nemours, that she became even an object of compassion, and was wholly deprived of rest. Never did she pass a night in so uneasy a manner; in the morning, the first thing she did was to see if there was any body at the window which looked towards her apartment; she saw there monsieur de Nemours, and was so surprised upon it, and withdrew so hastily, as made him judge she knew him; he had often wished to be seen by her; ever since he had found out that method of seeing her, and when he had no hopes of obtaining that satisfaction, his way was to go to muse in the garden where she found him.
Tired at last with so unfortunate and uncertain a condition, he resolved to attempt something to determine his fate: What should I wait for? said he. I have long known she loves me; she is free; she has no duty now to plead against me; why should I submit myself to the hardship of seeing her, without being seen by her or speaking to her? Is it possible for love so absolutely to
