s for the reproaches made me, I
have a very simple method of answering--I do not say of justifying
myself--I never justify myself--"

"You don't say!" said the count.

"Never," resumed Rodin coolly; "my acts are sufficient for that. I will
then simply answer that seeing the deep, violent, almost fearful
impression made by this lady on the prince--"

"Let this assurance which you give me of the prince's love," said
Adrienne interrupting Rodin with an enchanting smile, "absolve you of all
the evil you wished to do me. The sight of our happiness be your only
punishment!"

"It may be that I need neither absolution nor punishment, for, as I have
already had the honor to observe to the count, my dear young lady, the
future will justify my acts. Yes; it was my duty to tell the prince that
you loved another than himself, and to tell you that he loved another
than yourself--all in your mutual interest. That my attachment for you
may have misled me, is possible--I am not infallible; but, after my past
conduct towards you, my dear young lady, I have, perhaps, some right to
be astonished at seeing myself thus treated. This is not a complaint. If
I never justify myself, I never complain either."

"Now really, there is something heroic in all this, my good sir," said
the count. "You do not condescend to complain or justify yourself, with
regard to the evil you have done."

"The evil I have done?" said Rodin, looking fixedly at the count. "Are we
playing at enigmas?"

"What, sir!" cried the count, with indignation: "is it nothing, by your
falsehoods, to have plunged the prince into so frightful a state of
despair, that he has twice attempted his life? Is it nothing, by similar
falsehoods, to have induced this lady to believe so cruel and complete an
error, that but for the resolution I have to-day taken, it might have led
to the most fatal consequences?"

"And will you do me the honor to tell me, sir, what interest I could have
in all this despair and error, admitting even that I had wished to
produce them?"

"Some great interest no doubt," said the count, bluntly; "the more
dangerous that it is concealed. You are one of those, I see, to whom the
woes of others are pleasure and profit."

"That is really too much, sir," said Rodin, bowing; "I should be quite
contented with the profit."

"Your impudent coolness will not deceive me; this is a serious matter,"
said the count. "It is impossible that so perfidious a piece of r