"You believe me, you call me 'dear,' you look at me out of those wonderful eyes as if you cared for me."
"I do, I do," she murmured.
"'Alice,' he cried ... 'Say it isn't true.'"
"You care for me, and yet you turn me down," he said bitterly. "It reminds me of a verse I read," and drawing a small volume from his pocket he turned the pages quickly. "Ah, here it is," and he marked some lines with a pencil. "There!"
Alice took the volume and began to read in a low voice: "Je n'aimais qu'elle au monde, et vivre un jour sans elle
Me semblait un destin plus affreux que la mort.
Je me souviens pourtant qu'en cette nuit cruelle
Pour briser mon lien je fis un long effort.
Je la nommai cent fois perfide et déloyale,
Je comptai tous les maux qu'elle m'avait causés."
She stopped suddenly, her eyes full of pain.
"You don't think that, you can't think that of me?" she pleaded.
"I'd rather think you a coquette than—" Again he checked himself at the sight of her trouble. He could not speak harshly to her.