I cannot believe myself that it is not all a hideous dream--that it should be really true! It was not I--it was another woman, a stranger whom I do not know--with whom I have nothing in common.

I was not alive then--I have only lived since you were mine.
Oh, why did you come so late ?" And her wild, passionate words sank into heartrending sobs.
He could not but be sorry for her.

Was it wise, was it fitting to rake up the past?
Had he any right to call her to account for faults which were not committed against him?
She was good and pure now.

She had not broken faith with him--not even in her thoughts--for she had no eyes for anybody in the world but him! He held out his hand to her.
"I will forget what I heard to-day," he said, "and do not let us ever speak again of what has been." He was quite sincere in saying this, for he really wished to forget.
But our memory is not subject to our will.

Do what he would, he could not banish the consumptive poet from his mind, nor the diplomat with the silly, handsome face, and other figures more shadowy than these two, but none the less annoying.