erhaps I may have done so," said Clemence, with a smile; "but let me,
for once, plead my sex's privilege of changing my mind, and so, even at
the risk of astonishing you by my caprice, I will own that I should
greatly prefer sharing my solitude with you,--that is, if it would be
quite agreeable to you."

"Oh, how very good of you," exclaimed M. d'Harville, with much delight,
"thus to anticipate my most ardent desire, which I durst not have
requested had you not so kindly encouraged me!"

"Ah, my lord, your very surprise is a severe reproach to me."

"A reproach! Oh, not for worlds would I have you so understand me! But
to find you so kindly considerate, so attentive to my wishes, after my
cruel and unjust conduct the other day, does, I confess, both shame and
surprise me; though the surprise is of the most gratifying and
delightful sort."

"Come, come, my lord," said Madame d'Harville, with a smile of heavenly
sweetness, "let the past be for ever forgotten between us."

"Can you, Clemence," said M. d'Harville, "can you bring yourself to
forget that I have dared to suspect you; that, hurried on by a wild,
insensate jealousy, I meditated violence I now shudder to think of?
Still, what are even these deep offences to the greater and more
irreparable wrong I have done you?"

"Again I say," returned Clemence, making a violent effort to command
herself, "let us forget the past."

"What do I hear? Can you,--oh, is it possible you will pardon me, and
forget all the past?"

"I will try to do so, and I fear not but I shall succeed."

"Oh, Clemence! Can you, indeed, be so generous? But no, no,--I dare not
hope it! I have long since resigned all expectation that such happiness
would ever be mine."

"And now you see how wrong you were in coming to such a conclusion."

"But how comes this blessed change? Or do I dream? Speak to me,
Clemence! Tell me I am not deceiving myself,--that all is not mere
illusion! Speak! Say that I may trust my senses!"

"Indeed you may; I mean all I have said."

"And, now I look at you, I see more kindness in your eye,--your manner
is less cold,--your voice tremulous. Oh, tell me, tell me, is this
indeed true? Or am I the sport of some illusion?"

"Nay, my lord, all is true, and safely to be believed. I, too, have need
of pardon at your hands, and therefore I propose that we mutually
exchange forgiveness."

"You, Clemence! You need forgiveness! Oh, for what, or wherefore?"

"Have I not