f us ever have anything to
reproach each other with. It is I who am the more ambitious of the two;
for, in my position, I have no right to think of any person but a
workman for my husband. I was a foundling, and have nothing but my small
apartment and my good spirits, and yet I come and boldly offer myself to
you as a wife."

"Alas, formerly such a destiny would have been the dream--the happiness
of my life! But now I am under the odium of an infamous accusation; and
should I take advantage of your excessive generosity, your
commiseration, which no doubt misleads you? No, no!"

"But," exclaimed Rigolette, with pained impatience, "I tell you that it
is not pity I feel for you, it is love! I think of you only; I no longer
sleep or eat. Your sad and gentle countenance follows me everywhere. Can
that be pity only? Now, when you speak to me, your voice, your look, go
to my very heart. There are a thousand things in you now which please
me, and which I had not before marked. I like your face, I like your
eyes, your appearance, your disposition, your good heart. Is that pity?
Why, after having loved you as a friend, do I love you as a lover? I
cannot say. Why was I light and gay when I liked you as a friend? Why am
I quite a different being now I love you as a lover? I do not know. Why
have I been so slow in finding you at once handsome and good,--in loving
you at once with eyes and heart? I cannot say--or rather, yes--I can; it
is because I have discovered how much you love me without having told me
of it,--how generous and devoted you were. Then love mounted from my
heart to my eyes, as a tear does when the heart is softened."

"Really, I seem to be in a dream when I hear you speak thus!"

"And I never could have believed that I could have told you all this,
but your despair has forced me to it. Well, sir, now you know I love you
as my friend, my lover--as my husband! Will you still call it pity?"

The generous scruples of Germain were overcome in an instant before this
plain and devoted confession, a hopeful joy prevailed over his painful
reflections.

"You love me?" he cried; "I believe you; your accent, your
look,--everything proclaims it! I will not ask how I have merited such
happiness, but I abandon myself to it blindly; my life, my whole life,
will not suffice to pay my debt to you! Oh, I have greatly suffered
already, but this moment effaces all!"

"Then you will be comforted at last? Oh, I was sure I should c