CHAPTER XXIX.
At La Pauline "Le plus lent a promettre est toujours le plus fidele a tenir." The tale was thus told to her whom it most concerned, clearly and without reservation.

The details are, however, known to the patient reader, and call for no recapitulation here.

When Madame de Clericy heard the end of it--namely, the sad fate of the unfortunate _Principe Amadeo_ and all, save two, on board that steamer--she sat in silence for some moments, and indeed made no comment at any other time.
Assuredly none was needed, nor could any human words add to or detract from that infallible Divine judgment which had so ruled our lives.
For when one who is dear to us has forfeited our love by one of those great and sorrowful alterations of the mind, scarce amounting to madness, and yet near akin to it, which, alas! are frequently enough brought about by temptation or an insufficient self control--surely, then, it is only Heaven's kindness that takes from us the erring one and leaves but a brief memory of his fall.

Has not a great writer said that a dead sorrow is better than a living one?
I rose to my feet and stood for a moment in the doorway of the summerhouse, intending to leave Madame with her dead grief.

But as I crossed the threshold her quiet voice arrested me.
"Mon ami!" she said, and, as I paused without looking round, presently went on--well pleased, perhaps, that I should not see her face.
"One mistake you make in the kindness of your heart, for you are a stern man with a soft heart, as many English are--you grieve too much for me.