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  I seemed to have no other reason for living than my love, and to that I clung, expecting nothing, and with my mind made up to expect nothing, but what should come to me from Alissa. The next morning, as I was getting ready to go and see her, my aunt handed me the following letter which she had just received: ‘...Juliette’s extreme restlessness did not yield to the doctor’s prescriptions1 till towards morning. I beg Jérôme not to come and see us for some days. Juliette might recognize his footsteps or his voice, and she is in need of the greatest quiet. ‘I am afraid Juliette’s condition will keep me here. If I do not manage to see Jérôme before he leaves, please tell him, dear Aunt, that I will write to him...’ The Bucolins’ door was shut only against me. My aunt, or anyone else that chose, was free to knock at it; and, indeed, my aunt was going there that very morning. I might make a noise! What a feeble excuse! No matter. ‘Very well,’ said I, ‘I won’t go.’ It cost me a great dea...