Madame de Fersen gazed at me in profound and pained astonishment, for I had never accustomed her to such acrimonious methods.
I continued:
"I am moreover delighted to find this opportunity of telling you, once for all, that your parleys and continual verbiage with these tiresome and self-sufficient persons are very displeasing to me, and make me impatient beyond all expression. I never find you alone. You are for ever surrounded by these people, who find it very convenient to make your parlours an annex to their legations. I would infinitely prefer that you should be surrounded by a bevy of the most elegant and the wittiest young men, and that you showed yourself towards them as great a coquette as Madame de V——! At least I could be jealous of somebody, I could vie with some rival in attentions and tenderness for you. But here, against whom can I struggle? Whom shall I call to account?—the various nations? I declare to you that I find nothing more humiliating, more abject, than being reduced to feel jealous of Europe, or to contest for the heart of the woman I love with orators in the Chambers, as I am doing this day."
"My dearest, are you speaking seriously?" said Madame de Fersen, with a timid, shrinking, and yet bantering uncertainty, which would have enraptured me if Catherine had been less desperately beautiful, and if certain vexations did not drive you senseless as well as wicked. Madame de Fersen's question, moreover, exasperated me, for it showed me that my exhibition of anger approached the comic.
"Loving hearts and generous minds divine the impressions, and do not question. If you are reduced to asking me what I feel, I pity you. As for me, I am more clear-sighted, and understand but too well that you no longer love me."
"I not love you!" exclaimed Madame de Fersen, clasping her hands in distressed amazement; then she repeated: "I not love you! You say that—to me?"
"If you loved me, you would for my sake sacrifice all this following which I detest, because it hampers me, because it is useless, because it warps your mind. If you loved me, you would sacrifice the gratification of your vanity to my happiness."
"The gratification of my vanity! It is then from vanity that I preserve, that I cultivate these relations! Mon Dieu! Must I then repeat to you, Arthur, what I never say without sorrow and shame? I have been guilty, let me, at least, do all I can not to aggravate my error."
"Now you are beginning with your remorse," said I, harshly; "a rupture is not far distant, but, let me tell you, you might be anticipated."
"Ah, what are you saying? It is dreadful,—have I deserved it?" cried Catherine, her eyes filling with tears.