o conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have
counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of
crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from
all who have loved me, leaning for sole support on a heart that doubts
me. Fool that I am! I thought that truth had a glance, an accent, that
could not be mistaken, that would be respected! Ah! when I think of it,
tears choke me. Why, if it must ever be thus, induce me to take a step
that will forever destroy my peace? My head is confused, I do not know
where I am!"

She leaned on me weeping. "Fool! Fool!" she repeated, in a heartrending
voice.

"And what is it you ask?" she continued, "what can I do to meet those
suspicions that are ever born anew, that alter with your moods? I
must justify myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying,
for despairing? And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that
cheerfulness offends you. I sacrifice everything to follow you and
you have not gone a league before you look back. Always, everywhere,
whatever I may do, insults and anger!"

"Ah! dear child, if you knew what a mortal chill comes over me, what
suffering I endure in seeing my simplest words this taken up and hurled
back at me with suspicion and sarcasm! By that course you deprive
yourself of the only happiness there is in the world--perfect love. You
kill all delicate and lofty sentiment in the hearts of those who love
you; soon you will believe in nothing except the material and the gross;
of love there will remain for you only that which is visible and can
be touched with the finger. You are young, Octave, and you have still a
long life before you; you will have other mistresses. Yes, as you say,
pride is a little thing and it is not to it I look for consolation; but
God wills that your tears shall one day pay me for those which I now
shed for you!"

She arose.

"Must it be said? Must you know that for six months I have not sought
repose without repeating to myself that it was all in vain, that you
would never be cured; that I have never risen in the morning without
saying that another effort must be made; that after every word you have
spoken I have felt that I ought to leave you, and that you have not
given me a caress that I would rather die than endure; that, day by day,
minute by minute, hesitating between hope and fear, I have vainly tried
to conquer either my love or my grief; that, when I opened my heart