“Oh, just getting some fresh air.”
“I do not want to prevent your getting fresh air; you would lose your beauty, and M. Beausire would love you no longer. Open the windows as much as you like.”
“Oh, I see I have offended you; you care no more about me.”
“Offended me—how?”
“Because you had taken a fancy to me, and I repulsed you. A man of your consequence, a handsome man like you, has a right to be angry at being rejected by a poor girl like me. But do not abandon me, sir, I entreat;” and she put her arms round his neck.
“Poor little thing,” said he, kissing her forehead; “do not be afraid; I am not angry or offended. Indeed, were you to offer me your love, I should refuse you, so much do I desire to inspire pure sentiments. Besides, I should think you influenced more by gratitude than love; so we will remain as we are, and I will continue to protect you.”
Oliva let his hand fall, humiliated, and duped by the pretended generosity of Cagliostro. “Oh, I shall say henceforth,” she cried, “that there are men superior to what I ever thought.”
“All women are good,” thought Cagliostro, “if you only touch the right chord.—From this evening,” he said aloud, “you shall move to other rooms, where the windows look on Menilmontant and the Bellevue. You need not fear to show yourself to the neighbors; they are all honest, simple people, who will never suspect you. Only keep a little back from the window, lest any one passing through the street should see you. At least you will have air and sunshine.”
Oliva looked pleased.
“Shall I conduct you there now?”