The envelope was not sealed. I opened it and read as follows:
23 December, 18--
"When you receive this letter I shall be far away from you, and shall
perhaps never see you again. My destiny is bound up with that of a man
for whom I have sacrificed everything; he can not live without me and I
am going to try to die for him. I love you; adieu, and pity us."
I turned the letter over when I had read it, and saw that it was
addressed to "M. Henri Smith, N-----, _poste restante_."
CHAPTER VII
ON the morrow, a clear December day, a young man and a woman who rested
on his arm, passed through the garden of the Palais-Royal. They entered a
jeweler's store where they chose two similar rings which they smilingly
exchanged. After a short walk they took breakfast at the
Freres-Provencaux, in one of those little rooms which are, all things
considered, one of the most beautiful spots in the world. There, when the
garcon had left them, they sat near the windows, hand in hand. The young
man was in traveling dress; to see the joy which shone on his face, one
would have taken him for a young husband showing his young wife the
beauties and pleasures of Parisian life. His happiness was calm and
subdued, as true happiness always is. The experienced would have
recognized in him the youth who merges into manhood. From time to time he
looked up at the sky, then at his companion, and tears glittered in his
eyes, but he heeded them not, and smiled as he wept.
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