"I only am to blame, mademoiselle," continued Raoul; "better informed than yourself of the difficulties of this life, I should have enlightened you. I ought not to have relied upon uncertainty; I ought to have extracted an answer from your heart, while I hardly even sought an acknowledgment from your lips. Once more, mademoiselle, it is I who ask your forgiveness."
"Impossible, impossible!" she cried, "you are mocking me."
"How, impossible!"
"Yes, it is impossible to be good, and excellent, and perfect to such a degree as that."
"Take care!" said Raoul, with a bitter smile, "for presently you may say perhaps that I did not love you."
"Oh! you love me like an affectionate brother; let me hope that, Raoul."
"As a brother! undeceive yourself, Louise. I loved you as a lover—as a husband, with the deepest, the truest, the fondest affection."
"Raoul, Raoul!"
"As a brother! Oh, Louise! I loved you so deeply, that I would have shed my blood for you, drop by drop; I would, oh! how willingly, have suffered myself to be torn in pieces for your sake, have sacrificed my very future for you. I loved you so deeply, Louise, that my heart feels crushed and dead within me—that my faith in human nature is gone—that my eyes seem to have lost their light; I loved you so deeply, that I now no longer see, think of, care for, anything, either in this world or in the next."
"Raoul—dear Raoul! spare me, I implore you!" cried La Valliere. "Oh! if I had but known."