n, wandering around
the truth without deciding to discover it. Finally, he began to suspect.
"Well," he said to himself, "is it possible she believes that I am
making love to her daughter? No, that would be too much!" And, combating
with ingenious and loyal arguments that supposititious conviction, he
felt indignant that she had lent for an instant to this healthy and
almost paternal affection any suspicion of gallantry. He became more and
more irritated against the Countess, utterly unwilling to concede
that she had dared suspect him of such villainy, of an infamy so
unqualifiable; and he resolved, when the time should come for him to
answer her, that he would not soften the expression of his resentment.

He soon left his studio to go to her house, impatient for an
explanation. All along the way he prepared, with a growing irritation,
the arguments and phrases that must justify him and avenge him for such
a suspicion.

He found her on her lounge, her face changed by suffering.

"Well," said he, drily, "explain to me, my dear friend, the strange
scene that has just occurred."

"What, you have not yet understood it?" she said, in a broken voice.

"No, I confess I have not."

"Come, Olivier, search your own heart well."

"My heart?"

"Yes, at the bottom of your heart."

"I don't understand. Explain yourself better."

"Look well into the depths of your heart, and see whether you find
nothing there that is dangerous for you and for me."

"I repeat that I do not comprehend you. I guess that there is something
in your imagination, but in my own conscience I see nothing."

"I am not speaking of your conscience, but of your heart."

"I cannot guess enigmas. I entreat you to be more clear."

Then, slowing raising her hands, she took the hands of the painter and
held them; then, as if each word broke her heart, she said:

"Take care, my friend, or you will fall in love with my daughter!"

He withdrew his hands abruptly, and with the vivacity of innocence which
combats a shameful accusation, with animated gesture and increasing
excitement, he defended himself, accusing her in her turn of having
suspected him unjustly.

She let him talk for some time, obstinately incredulous, sure of what
she had said. Then she resumed:

"But I do not suspect you, my friend. You were ignorant of what was
passing within you, as I was ignorant of it until this morning. You
treat me as if I had accused you of wishing to seduce An