She laughed as she called my attention to it; but her laughter soon turned into convulsions which I had much difficulty in quieting.
I had placed myself close to her; she had a consuming fever, her eyes glistened.

I begged her to consent to take the absolute rest which was alone suitable to her condition.
"What is the use ?" she replied.

"I am not ill.

It is not the fever that is killing me, nor the cold, it is the thought that is burning me there;"-- she touched her forehead--"it is shame--it is your scorn and your hatred; now, alas! but too well deserved!" My heart overflowed then, Paul; I told her everything; my passion, my regrets, my remorse! I covered with kisses her trembling hands, her cold forehead, her damp hair.

I poured into her poor shattered soul all the tenderness, all the pity, all the adoration a man's soul can contain! She knew now that I loved her; she could not doubt it! She listened to me with rapture.