Ursula

her niece. A person who is
  your well-wisher assures you that Savinien will be accepted."
    The letter to Ursula was as follows:—
      Dear Ursula,—There is a young man in Nemours who idolizes you. He
  cannot see you working at your window without emotions which prove
  to him that his love will last through life. This young man is
  gifted with an iron will and a spirit of perseverance which
  nothing can discourage. Receive his addresses favorably, for his
  intentions are pure, and he humbly asks your hand with a sincere
  desire to make you happy. His fortune, already suitable, is
  nothing to that which he will make for you when you are once his
  wife. You shall be received at court as the wife of a minister and
  one of the first ladies in the land.

  As he sees you every day (without your being able to see him) put
  a pot of La Bougival's pinks in your window and he will understand
  from that that he has your permission to present himself.
    Ursula burned the letter and said nothing about it to Savinien. Two days later she received another letter in the following language:—
      "You do wrong, my dear Ursula, not to answer one who loves you
  better than life itself. You think you will marry Savinien—you
  are very much mistaken. That marriage will not take place. Madame
  de Portenduere went this morning to Rouvre to ask for the hand of
  Mademoiselle Clementine for her son. Savinien will yield in the
  end. What objection can he make? The uncles of the young lady are
  willing to guarantee their fortune to her; it amounts to over
  sixty thousand francs a year."
    This letter agonized Ursula's heart and afflicted her with the tortures of jealousy, a form of suffering hitherto unknown to her, but which to this fine organization, so sensitive to pain, threw a pall over the present and over the future, and even over the past. From the moment when she received this fatal paper she lay on the doctor's sofa, her eyes fixed on space, lost in a dreadful dream. In an instant the chill of death had come upon her warm young life. Alas, worse than that! it was like the awful awakening of the dead to the sense that there was no God,—the masterpiece of that strange genius called Jean Paul. Four times La Bougival called her to breakfast. When the faithful creature tried to remonstrate, Ursula waved her hand and answered in one harsh word, "Hush!" said despotically, in strange contrast to her usual gentle manner. La Bougival, watching her mistress through the glass door, saw her alternately red with a consuming fever, and blue as if a shudder of cold had succeeded that unnatural heat. This condition grew worse and worse up to four o'clock; then she rose to see if Savinien were coming, but he did not come. Jealousy and distrust tear all reserves from love. Ursula, who till then had never made one gesture by which her love could be guessed, now took her hat and shawl and rushed into the passage as if to go and meet him. But an afterthought of modesty sent her back to her little salon, where she stayed and wept. When the abbe arrived in the evening La Bougival met him at the door.
    "Ah, monsieur!" she cried; "I don't know what's the matter with mademoiselle; she is—"
    "I know," said the abbe sadly, stopping the words of the poor nurse.
    He then told Ursula (what she had not dared to verify) that Madame de Portenduere had gone to dine at Rouvre.
    "And Savinien too?" she asked.
    "Yes."
    Ursula was seized with a little nervous tremor which made the abbe quiver as though a whole Leyden jar had been discharged at him; he felt moreover a lasting commotion in his heart.
    "So we shall not go there to-night," he said as gently as he could; "and, my child, it would be better if you did not go there again. The old lady will receive you in a way to wound your pride. Monsieur Bongrand and I, who had succeeded in bringing her to consider your marriage, have no idea from what quarter this new influence has come to change her, as it were in a moment."
    "I expect the worst; nothing can surprise me now," said Ursula in a pained voice. "In such extremities it is a comfort to feel that we have done nothing to displease God."
    "Submit, dear daughter, and do not seek to fathom the ways of Providence," said the abbe.
    "I shall not unjustly distrust the character of Monsieur de Portenduere—"
    "Why do you no longer call him Savinien?" asked the priest, who detected a slight bitterness in Ursula's tone.
    "Of my dear