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it with fearful words. There was something heart-rending in his look. My friend Beauvais had also become pale, his youth was evaporating. Oh! there is nothing so terrible as to be compelled to doubt the worth of the beloved object; that gives more pain than despised affection. And in these pangs the hapless man was now perishing. Lucy was a puzzle to me also, when I was able to direct a look at her, she as well as Euphemie were constrained and timid, sought, and at the same time avoided solitude, longed to pour out the overflowings of the heart to each other or their beloved, yet could not find the time, or perhaps, could not exert sufficient courage. All the same men, who, but a short time previously sounded in concord together like heavenly tones, now screamed in yelling discord against one another; the apparent sanctity had changed into human folly, and each understood the other as little as himself. The elder Beauvais seemed to guess a