"I, _I_ only am to blame,--I, false to both, to both ungrateful.

Oh, from the hour that these eyes opened upon you I drank in a new life; the sun itself to me was less wonderful than your beauty.

But--but--let me forget that hour.

What do I not owe to Lucille?
I shall be wretched,--I shall deserve to be so; for shall I not think, Julie, that I have embittered your life with our ill-fated love?
But all that I can give--my hand, my home, my plighted faith--must be hers.

Nay, Julie, nay--why that look?
Could I act otherwise?
Can I dream otherwise?
Whatever the sacrifice, _must_ I not render it?
Ah, what do I owe to Lucille, were it only for the thought that but for her I might never have seen thee!" Lucille stayed to hear no more; with the same soft step as that which had borne her within hearing of these fatal words, she turned back once more to her desolate chamber.
That evening, as St.Amand was sitting alone in his apartment, he heard a gentle knock at the door.