I never saw Achille again, and I never once dared to ask either mamma or
papa about his fate; for they were both so kind and tender all the time
that I was seriously ill from the cold, exposure, and agitation to which
I had been subjected. It was quite a month before I was able to go out
again; while now--heigho!--would that I had never had a heart!
No: I never saw Achille again; but never, oh never will I believe that
newspaper report, though papa marked it all round thickly with a quill
pen, and left it where I could not avoid seeing it! It was in one of
the horrible evening papers, and said that one Achille de Tiraille had
been committed for trial upon a charge of swindling; but, even if it
were true, it could not have been my Achille--the soul of truth, honour,
and chivalry, whom I had once known.
Shall I ever be happy again? I feel seared and blighted; and, except
that pink is pleasing, I care little for dress. Papa is very kind, so
is mamma, and they have never even hinted at the past; while as for the
Cedars, such a place might never have been in existence. They take me
to all the operas, but "Trovatore" seems to be my favourite, since I
cannot help comparing the sorrows of two real individuals known to the
reader with those of the fictitious people of the opera. Yes--the
sorrows of Leonora and her poor Trovatore seem quite to refresh me,
though the sole pleasure of my life of late has been the committing of
these tear-bedewed confessions to paper, for the benefit of all who may
read them.
I have written again to Soeur Charite, and she sends me in return such
kind, loving words. I know she would be glad were I once more beneath
the shelter of her dove-like wings; but neither papa nor mamma would, I
am sure, ever again listen to any proposition for me to leave home. So
I practise self-denial, and try to improve upon the lessons inculcated
by Mr Saint Purre, who often calls, mamma being very fond of his
society.