“In truth, I know not what ails me, but I feel stifled.”
“Weep, then, weep, as you cannot give me a smile!”
Louise raised her sweet face, which the tears, rolling down one after the other, illumined like diamonds.
“Come, confess,” said Montalais.
“What shall I confess?”
“What makes you weep; people don’t weep without cause. I am your friend; whatever you would wish me to do, I will do. Malicorne is more powerful than you would think. Do you wish to go to Paris?”
“Alas!” sighed Louise.
“Do you wish to come to Paris?”
“To remain here alone, in this old castle, I who have enjoyed the delightful habit of listening to your songs, of pressing your hand, of running about the park with you. Oh! how I shall be ennuyee! how quickly I shall die!”
“Do you wish to come to Paris?”