"The influence of a firm will," thought De Brévannes, as he quickly unclosed the black book, in which he read what follows, whilst Iris, with her elbow resting on the mantel-piece, her cheek reclining on her hand, and pretending not to be looking at her dupe, was attentively watching him in the glass.
CHAPTER XXVII
[DETACHED THOUGHTS]
Iris had penned the following passages with a hand apparently faltering and agitated, as if the ideas had come hastily, confusedly, and irregularly, into the head of the princess:—
"I have seen him again at the Théâtre Française! All my griefs, all my regrets were awakened at the sight of him.
"He will then pursue me every where. I never experienced such violent emotion: to be compelled to conceal all from the penetrating eyes of the world—from the indifferent glances of my husband. Is it hatred, indignation, or anger, which have thus disturbed me?
"Yes, hatred, indignation, and anger, are the feelings I must feel for the man who killed my betrothed, him to whom I was plighted, and whom from my infancy I loved! Ought I not to execrate him who has dishonoured me by such infamous calumny? Oh, yes, I hate him!—I hate him!—and yet......"
Here followed some words absolutely illegible, ending this first passage, and which furnished De Brévannes with a text for a world of conjectures.
These words, "and yet" seemed to him a token of happy augury. He continued,—
"I was so overcome by my recent reflections that I durst not continue or trust to paper—alas! my sole confidant—the cause of my alarm.