her
for an instant in utter inability to believe the words he heard; then,
as the bright beaming look he encountered conveyed the truth to his
mind, his colour varied from deepest red to deadly pale, he cried out in
a voice quivering with emotion:

"Can it be? Do I hear aright? Ah, repeat those dear words that I may
feel convinced of their reality."

"Why should I hesitate to assure you again and again that when I learned
your kind consideration for me, and remembered how miserable and
wretched you were, I no longer felt for you the calm feelings of
friendship? And certainly, M. Germain," added Rigolette, smilingly,
while a rosy blush mantled her intelligent features, "if I had a friend
now I wished to see well married, I should be very sorry indeed to
recommend her choosing you, because, because--"

"You would marry me yourself!" exclaimed the delighted young man.

"You compel me to tell you so myself, since you will not ask it of me."

"Can this be possible?"

"It is not from not having put you in the direct path more than once to
make you understand. But you will not take a hint, and so, sir, I am
compelled to confess the thing myself. It is wrong, perhaps; but, as
there is no one but yourself to reprove my boldness, I have less fear;
and then," added Rigolette, in a more serious tone, and with tender
emotion, "you just now appeared to me so greatly overcome, so
despairing, that I could no longer repress my feelings; and I had vanity
enough to believe that this avowal, frankly made and from my heart,
would prevent you from being unhappy in future. I said to myself, 'Until
now I had been able to amuse or comfort him--' Ah, _mon Dieu!_ what is
the matter?" exclaimed Rigolette, seeing Germain conceal his face in
his hands. "Is not this cruel?" she added; "whatever I do, whatever I
say, you are still as wretched as ever, and that is being too
unkind--too selfish; it is as if it were you only who suffered from
sorrows!"

"Alas, what misery is mine!" exclaimed Germain, with despair; "you love
me when I am no longer worthy of you."

"Not worthy of me? Why, how can you talk so absurdly? It is just as if I
said that I was not formerly worthy of your friendship because I had
been in prison; for, after all, I have been a prisoner also; but am I
the less an honest girl?"

"But you were in prison because you were a poor forsaken girl; whilst
I--alas, what a difference!"

"Well, then, as to prison, we shall neither o