“Mademoiselle Sophie,” said I, “I purpose being a man.”
“Has not your uncle been also a man, Réné?”
“Yes; but a man useless to his country. The times in which he lived, and the times in which we live, are different. The tranquillity which existed in his generation is not permitted in this.”
“You are ambitious, Réné?” asked Sophie.
“It is not ambition, mademoiselle; it is obedience to the designs of heaven. There are times when every man, great or small, carries his mission in himself. What, then? He must keep that mission till it is fulfilled. Who knows but that even I, insignificant as I am, have one? You have already drawn me from the crowd of my equals, because you condescended to take my arm. It was not all that I could have wished. Oh, Sophie, I ask you, here, under the shelter of these great trees, the most sacred temple that I know of, will you promise to be mine? Will you give me all the love that you can, and the happiest day of my life will be that on which I can prove my devotion to you! Oh, Sophie, give me hope!”
“I believe you, Réné; in fact, from the first moment I saw you, I never doubted you. Ah! why were you not always with me, to support me with your arm when I stumbled, and with your heart when I doubted? I have called on you many times, Réné.”
“Can this be true, Mademoiselle Sophie?” cried I, filled with joy.
“Yes,” said she, “but do not misunderstand me. I do not love you. I never shall love you, Réné,” continued she, looking me full in the face. “I feel instinctively that I have need of your friendship. Why I should implore it, how it can be useful to me, I know not; but still I feel sure I shall have recourse to it some day; and if you are away from me, Réné, on that day, whose help shall I implore? If you are near to me, I can rely on you; can I not? Again I say to you, as I wrote once before, I am truly unhappy.”
She took her arm from mine, hid her face in her hand, and I could see by the heaving of her bosom that she was weeping.