untenance, the rapturous pulsations of my own heart, all convince me
of the truth of your words? But, Clemence, man, you know, is a creature
not easily satisfied; and," added the marquis, approaching his wife's
chair, "your noble, generous conduct inspires me with the boldness, the
courage, to hope--to hope,--yes, Clemence, to venture to hope for that
which, only yesterday, I should have considered it even worse than
madness to presume to think of."

"For mercy's sake, explain yourself!" said Clemence, alarmed at the
impassioned words and glances of her husband.

"Yes," cried he, seizing her hand, "yes, by dint of tender, untiring,
unwearied love,--Clemence, do you understand me?--I say, by dint of love
such as mine I venture to hope to obtain a return of my affection. I
dare to anticipate being loved by you,--not with a cold, lukewarm
regard, but with a passion ardent as my own for you. Ah, you know not
the real nature of such a love as I would inspire you with! Alas! I
never even dared to breathe it in your ears,--so frigid, so repulsive
were you to me. Never did you bestow on me a look, a word of kindness,
far less make my heart leap with such joy as thrilled through my breast
but now, when your words of sweet and gentle tenderness drew happy tears
from my eyes, and which, still ringing in my ears, make me almost beside
myself with gladness; and, amid the intoxicating delight which floats
through my brain, comes the proud consciousness of having earned even so
rich a reward by the deep, the passionate ardour of my love for you. Oh,
Clemence, when you will let me only tell you half I have suffered,--how
I have writhed in despairing anguish at your coldness, your disdain,
how I have watched and sighed in vain for one encouraging glance,--you
will own that, for patient devotion to one beloved object, I am inferior
to none. Whence arose that melancholy, that avoidance of all society,
our best friends have so fruitlessly sought to rouse me from? Can you
not guess the cause? Ah, it originated in desolation of spirit and
despair of ever obtaining your love. Yes, dearest Clemence, to that
overwhelming dread was owing the sombre taciturnity, the dislike to
company, the desponding gloom, which excited so many different
conjectures. Think, too, how much my sufferings must have been increased
by the fact that she, the beloved object of my heart's idolatry, was my
own,--legally, irrevocably mine,--dwelling beneath the same roof,