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 cruelly than his bitterest foe. I am assuming that he loves you—assuming, too, that you would tell him the entertaining story before the wedding. Well, then, he would either bid you good-bye and his unhappiness would come that way, because he loved you; or he would—what is most probable—still make you his wife, and at the same time make a hell of his own life; a hell of gnawing doubts and suspicions. You might treat him ever so sweetly, and be ever so faithful, you might even give me up—it would be all in vain. Your wicked confession would be for ever laughing at him from some corner of his heart, freezing his happiness with its icy mockery. "She has had a lover before, has she forgotten him." Is she still longing for him? Or if she has given him up, is she longing for another?" No, Marie, you are talking nonsense, and I warn you to beware of the false prophets who are crying "Truth" in the market-places. Truth is a two-edged sword which it is wisest to keep in its scabbard, and which, left in careless hands, causes more mischief than all the thundering lies ever told. I don't say lie, but I do say keep silent, and I would add that if you are forced to speak, then consider bravely and lovingly which will do the most good, the plain truth or some trifling invention.'

Thus I preached the true law of love to Marie. She listened attentively, and did not fall asleep till quite a long time after I had finished.