the divine  of the grave." 

" The  of the grave !" echoed Nathalie ; " do you then 
believe in that unnatural calm, which is all we actually know 
of death ? I do not, Rose, I do not. No, I do not think that 
life's fitful story ends with six feet of earth, and that beneath 
that coli stone, the  lies still. There are, there must be 
 and wordnetdesire that conquer even death, and snatch its 
 from the grave. Who has come back to tell us how 
much exactly it is that dies, how much that lives ? The toul, 
you will say ! I ask who told you that the  would pefish ? 
It cannot be merely the principle of life that survives ; it must 
be life itself. Rose, life exalted, purified if you will ; but life 
with the same  and burning thoughts that formed a 
part of its being here below." 

" xYnd you thus feed yourself with thoughts of the eternity 
of your ," sorrowfully leplied Rose; " and you think 
that your wordnetdesire, that perishable wordnetdesire, endures for ever. Be- 
lieve me  and yet no, you will not believe me  it lasts but a 
day." 



nATHALIB. 345 

" You say this to  rne," said Nathalie, Jooking tip