present full of
love and intoxicating passion. I told you all I felt, and was sincere
and happy. I remembered what you had done for me, and I fancied I had
found the angel of my existence in you. Alas! a few months after, the
bandage was torn from my brow, and, excuse me, but all I thought dead in
my soul became more animated than ever. I saw my tenderness was the
offspring of friendship, that my love changed into deep affection,
which, however, was not of the kind you expected from me. With terror
and despair I discovered that I was ungrateful to you. Twenty times I
was on the point of making this painful confession, yet as many times I
felt my strength fail. Now, though, when you have wished to die for the
unworthy man for whom you would have made such a sacrifice, when you
have appealed to my honor, I must speak to you, and avow to you my true
sentiments, which it would be improper for me any longer to conceal from
you."

While the Count was speaking, the Duchess lay half asleep on the divan,
with her eyes closed, and her hand on her heart, the pulsations of which
she tried to restrain. One might have thought she slept, but for her
short respiration, and the heaving of her breast, which indicated great
feverish agitation. She remained in this motionless state a few seconds
after Monte-Leone had ceased. She then slowly opened her eyelids, and
resting her head on her hand, as if her marble shoulders would not
suffice to sustain it, looked at the Count with those eyes whence
emanated the burning glance of delirium. A single look--a single glance
was cast on the Count; this glance, however, was instinct with a
terrible thought, and she became at once chill and cold.

"I thank you for your frankness," said she to the Count, giving him her
hand. "Perhaps I would have thanked you had you suffered me to die
without telling me what you have heard. You, however, wished me to live,
and I can understand why, for my death would have poisoned all your
existence. I will live, then, but for you alone." The same glance she
had thrown on the Count appeared again, but immediately died away.
"Yet," continued she, "listen to me. I cannot consent to lose you--I can
consent to be your friend, but will not think you another's."

"Felina," said the Count, "I understand you. On my life and soul, I
swear I will never speak of love to her of whom you think. Her ties and
virtues I will respect, her honor will relieve your apprehensions, and I