Mauprat
tience's heart, and that, in offering him a little cottage belonging to her father situated in a picturesque ravine near the park gate, she had gone to work with such grace and delicacy that not even his techy pride could feel wounded. In fact, it was to conclude these important negotiations that the abbé had betaken himself to Gazeau Tower with Marcasse on that very evening when Edmée and myself sought shelter there. The terrible scene which followed our arrival put an end to any irresolution still left in Patience. Inclined to the Pythagorean doctrines, he had a horror of all bloodshed. The death of a deer drew tears from him, as from Shakespeare's Jacques; still less could he bear to contemplate the murder of a human being, and the instant that Gazeau Tower had served as the scene of two tragic deaths, it stood defiled in his eyes, and nothing could have induced him to pass another night there. He followed us to Sainte-Sévère, and soon allowed his philosophical scruples to be overcome by Edmée's persuasive powers. The little cottage which he was prevailed on to accept was humble enough not to make him blush with shame at a too palpable compromise with civilization; and, though the solitude he found there was less perfect than at Gazeau Tower, the frequent visits of the abbé and of Edmée could hardly have given him a right to complain.
Here the narrator interrupted his story again to expatiate on the development of Mademoiselle de Mauprat's character.
Edmée, hidden away in her modest obscurity, was and, believe me, I do not speak from bias one of the most perfect women to be found in France. Had she
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