melody, and the voice of Seraphine broke out like a crystal bell.
It was a luxury of divine poetry; an ocean of harmony, in which my heart was lost in crying to God to call us to himself. When I came out of this ecstacy—
"Thanks," said Seraphine, "thanks for this hour which I owe you, and which I shall never forget."
With these words she held out her hand towards me; I fell on my knees to kiss it. It seemed to that me under my lips her nerves had trembled. Meanwhile the ball called us, the baroness had disappeared. I do not know how I found myself again in my great uncle's room; but that evening he said to me in a severe tone, that he was not ignorant of my interview with the baroness.
"But take care," added he, "take care, cousin, thou art running on thin ice which hides an abyss without bottom. May the devil take music, if it is only to serve to make thee commit folly, by troubling the peace of a young and romantic woman. Take care of thyself; none are so near death as a sick man who thinks that he is well."
"But my uncle," said I, with the intention of justifying myself, "do you think me capable of seeking to take the heart of the baroness by surprise?"
"Monkey that thou art," exclaimed my great uncle, stamping with his foot: "if I believed it for a minute, I would throw you out of the window!"
The arrival of the baron cut short this conversation, and for a long time the labor of justice did not leave me leisure to return to Seraphine. Meanwhile our intimacy was gradually renewed. Miss Adelheid was often charged with a secret message to me from her mistress, and we occupied the frequent absence of the baron in meetings around the harpsichord. The presence of the lady companion, whose character was trifling enough, prevented us from the least wandering towards sentiment. But I recognized, by certain signs, that Seraphine carried in her heart a fund of sadness that was slowly
