After a few moments' silence he said to Pierre Raimond,—
"You are right, my friend—you have set me an example of confidence. I will imitate you. Perhaps I may inspire you with some interest by certain similarities between my position and that of your daughter; for you have told me that her marriage is not a happy one, and it is to my own marriage that I owe my bitterest grief."
"You married, and so young?" said Raimond with astonishment.
"These two years."
"And your wife?" inquired Bertha.
"She is in Germany," replied M. de Hansfeld, after a moment's hesitation.
"And some passages in the overture to Fidelio that Bertha played have no doubt recalled painful recollections?"
"Alas, yes! When I first knew her whom I married, I was at the height of my first admiration for this opera of Beethoven. I have always had the habit of attaching my thoughts of the moment to certain passages in the music I love—thoughts which for me became, I may say, the words of the airs I love most. Well, then, the opera of Fidelio always reminds me of the phases of my ill-starred love."
"Ah, now I can understand your emotion!" said Bertha, shaking her head mournfully.
"Let me assure you, my friend," said Pierre Raimond, cordially, "that you will never speak to hearts more fully sympathising."