"Do you know, dear, that your astonishment has almost an air of reproach?"
"A reproach? Oh, no, no! not after my unjust and cruel suspicions the other day. To find you so forgiving, it is, I confess, a surprise for me; but a surprise the most delightful."
"Let us forget the past," said she to her husband, with an angelic smile.
"Clemence, can you forget?" answered he, sadly. "Have I not dared to suspect you? To tell you to what extremity a blind jealousy has impelled me? But what is all this compared to other wrongs, still greater, more irreparable?"
"Let us forget the past, I say," repeated Clemence, restraining her emotion.
"What do I hear? The past also—can you forget it?"
"I hope to do so."
"Can it be true, Clemence, you can be so generous? But no, no, I cannot believe in so much happiness; I had renounced it forever."
"You were wrong, you see."
"What a change! Is it a dream? Oh, tell me I am not mistaken."