"Dear Lady,—I was able to endure the loss of your hand, but not of your respect. Read and judge. A dying friend left to my care a woman whom he loved with all the power of a suffering heart. I had deprived him of the love of this woman without wishing to do so. After his death I became acquainted with her more intimately, and it seemed to me that I loved her. Unfortunately I told her so. After that you know, beloved lady, what happened. After that I hid from myself my ill-fated attachment to you. How much I suffered! Oh, pardon me! I am a man, I too must love, but still it was not from my lips that you learned of that love. When at last I stood before my own conscience, when the moment of memory came, judge yourself, how was I to act, whither was I to go, what was I to do? The oath to a dying man, the word given to a woman unhappy beyond expression, everything except my heart commanded me to abdicate you. It was not through my fault that you learned of this only yesterday. This news should have gone to you at the time when Count Pelski appeared. Misfortune, and the frivolity of a man ordained otherwise. This is the state of affairs! Judge, and, if you are able, forgive. Adam says that I am ill. This is true: my thoughts are weeping, I feel a burning in my blood, and out of pain and chaos I see one thing clearly, that I love! that I love thee, O angel!"
After the reading of this letter the remnants of anger and pride vanished from Lula's fore-
