"What does it matter? Does it make no difference to you that the woman who is to bear your name should be dishonoured before she becomes your wife?"
At these words, which seemed to me the height of effrontery and the flagrant proof of the truth of my suspicions, I was seized with an uncontrollable desire for revenge, all my scruples vanished, and to-day I bless the hazard that retained on my lips the horrible words that came into my mind. Fortunately for me, I was disposed to be ironical, and I contained myself.
"Hélène," said I, "our conversation should be grave and serious; be so good as to listen to me. You who are candour, loyalty, and disinterestedness personified," said I, with an accent of disgusting insolence,—which she never even noticed, so far above all suspicion was she conscious of being,—"I beg of you, answer me with perfect loyalty; our whole future is in the balance."
With that instinctive divination which rarely is mistaken, Hélène guessed at my treachery, for she cried out in anguish: "Stop, Arthur, something extraordinary is passing in your mind. I have never seen you with such an icy, defiant look; you alarm me! In heaven's name, what have I done to you?"
"You have done me no harm; but since you mean to bear my name, since you expect to be my wife,—and I am infinitely obliged to you for the confidence you have in the future, it does honour to both of us," I continued, with a smile which terrified her,—"you must reply to my questions."
"Good God, with what a look you say that, Arthur! I don't understand; what does it all mean? What must I answer?"
"Hélène, when for the first time you began to interest yourself in my presence, or my future, when you began to love me, what was your object, your motive?"
"My object, my motive? I tell you again that I don't understand you," said she, shaking her head; then overcome with astonishment: "Stop, Arthur, you are torturing me; in the name of your mother, explain yourself clearly. What do you want of me? What is the meaning of all these questions?"
"Very well, then! I will follow your example, and speak with equal frankness, liberality, and clearness; like you I give free rein to my sudden impulses, without the least arrière-pensée, without the slightest calculation; and as there is no doubt about your becoming my wife, and when that delightful hour arrives we will wish to be in each other's confidence, I will tell you how and why I have loved you, but before doing so I mean to exact from you a similar confession. It will be a mutual exchange of generous and tender sentiments which will be a consolation to my poor troubled heart, do you not think so?" I said all this with a cold, cruel, and ironical manner which wounded the poor child to the quick, and distressed her greatly, though she could not understand the withering allusions with which I blighted her pure and unselfish love.
Now that I can calmly reflect on this scene, I shudder to think how much Hélène must have suffered in hearing me speak to her thus for the first time. I can see her yet, standing pale, cold, and trembling with anxiety in the middle of that pavilion, with its rustic furniture and its open windows where the thick fog was drifting in; I blush with shame when I remember that it was to an acknowledged enemy, defiant and determined to interpret everything to his own justification, she was summoned to reveal all those chaste and tender feelings which had preceded her avowal,—those treasures unknown to the lover which disclose the joys, alarms, and pains that he has unwittingly caused.