The fifth day after that fatal scene I was permitted to pay a visit to my aunt. I found her very pale, very much changed. In our long conversation I confessed everything to her, my frightful doubts and what had caused them, my heartless conduct towards Hélène, her indignation and scorn upon hearing my miserably sordid suspicions. But I also told her under whose influence I had yielded in acting so cruelly; I recalled to her the soul-chilling maxims of my father; I sought an excuse by telling her of the indelible impression those precepts had made on me; I showed her what an unfortunate position Hélène would hold in the eyes of the world, should she persist in her determination to have no more to do with me. These rumours were calumnies, as we knew, but they existed; and then on my knees, and in the name of Hélène's future, I begged her mother to intercede in my behalf.
My aunt, being kind and generous, was touched, for my grief was profound and real; she promised to speak with her daughter, to try and overcome her objections, and to induce her to accept my hand.
Hélène continued to refuse to see me.
At last, two days afterwards, my aunt came to inform me that, having at last overcome Hélène's violent objections to seeing me, she had induced her to grant me an interview, but she was entirely ignorant as to what decision Hélène would come.
I went with her mother to her room. I was in a state of excitement impossible to describe. When I entered, I was greatly shocked at Hélène's appearance; she seemed to have suffered greatly, but her manner was cool, calm, and dignified.
"I have sent for you, monsieur," said she, in a firm and penetrating voice, "to inform you of the decision I have taken after much reflection. It is very humiliating to me to remind you of an avowal which was so cruelly received, but I owe it to myself and to my mother. I loved you, and believing myself sure of the nobility and truth of the sentiments you had declared to me, trusting in the elevation of your nature, more from instinct than reflection, I had placed such blind confidence in you that our affectionate relation to one another passed in the eyes of the world for a guilty love,—so that at this very hour, monsieur, my reputation has been shamefully defamed."
"Hélène, believe me," I cried, "that my whole life—"
But imperiously making me a sign to be silent, she continued, "I have no one in the world but my mother to protect me; and, besides, if the most unfounded calumny always leaves an indelible stain, a calumny which is based on undeniable appearances ruins a woman's character for ever. I find, myself, then, monsieur, placed between dishonour, if I do not exact from you the only reparation public opinion ever accepts, or a miserable existence, in case I accept from you this reparation; for the doubts that you have expressed, and the words you have spoken, will remain engraved in my mind for ever and ever."
"No, Hélène," I cried out, "the tenderest and truest words, the most sincere repentance will chase those dreadful words from your heart, if you will only be generous to be guided by a heaven-sent inspiration!" And I threw myself at her knees.
She made me rise, and continued, with a sang-froid which chilled my blood: "You must understand, monsieur, that, being perfectly indifferent to the opinion of a man whom I no longer esteem, and clear in my conscience, I prefer to pass in your eyes as mercenary—"