effort, in spite of which the tide of
agitation was rapidly rising. On these last words of Newman's it
overflowed, though at first she spoke low, for fear of her voice
betraying her. "No. I was not right--I am not cold! I believe that if I
am doing what seems so bad, it is not mere weakness and falseness. Mr.
Newman, it's like a religion. I can't tell you--I can't! It's cruel of
you to insist. I don't see why I shouldn't ask you to believe me--and
pity me. It's like a religion. There's a curse upon the house; I don't
know what--I don't know why--don't ask me. We must all bear it. I have
been too selfish; I wanted to escape from it. You offered me a great
chance--besides my liking you. It seemed good to change completely, to
break, to go away. And then I admired you. But I can't--it has overtaken
and come back to me." Her self-control had now completely abandoned her,
and her words were broken with long sobs. "Why do such dreadful things
happen to us--why is my brother Valentin killed, like a beast in the
midst of his youth and his gayety and his brightness and all that we
loved him for? Why are there things I can't ask about--that I am afraid
to know? Why are there places I can't look at, sounds I can't hear?
Why is it given to me to choose, to decide, in a case so hard and so
terrible as this? I am not meant for that--I am not made for boldness
and defiance. I was made to be happy in a quiet, natural way." At this
Newman gave a most expressive groan, but Madame de Cintre went on. "I
was made to do gladly and gratefully what is expected of me. My mother
has always been very good to me; that's all I can say. I must not judge
her; I must not criticize her. If I did, it would come back to me. I
can't change!"

"No," said Newman, bitterly; "I must change--if I break in two in the
effort!"

"You are different. You are a man; you will get over it. You have all
kinds of consolation. You were born--you were trained, to changes.
Besides--besides, I shall always think of you."

"I don't care for that!" cried Newman. "You are cruel--you are terribly
cruel. God forgive you! You may have the best reasons and the finest
feelings in the world; that makes no difference. You are a mystery to
me; I don't see how such hardness can go with such loveliness."

Madame de Cintre fixed him a moment with her swimming eyes. "You believe
I am hard, then?"

Newman answered her look, and then broke out, "You are a perfect,
faultless creature!