I believe her in this case, without hesitation. I believe her very anxious to please the prince.
But I also have some rights.
I saved her child's life.
And what did she give me in return?
Herself, yes, she gave me herself.
This sacrifice of her honour, of her duties, has been either terrible and intoxicating, or it has only been an infamous, an odious calculation!
If this proof of love has been for her what it ever is for a virtuous, passionate woman, a most agonising sacrifice, why did she then refuse to abandon interests that were of the utmost insignificance in comparison with the irreparable fault she had committed?
Are these interests dearer to her than her love? Is her love only secondary to them?
It is, then, only a means, a pretext?
So be it; I have been the puppet of an intriguing woman, but she is very beautiful, and I am only half her dupe.