"But wherefore did you abandon me to all the weight of my remorse? Why, when you saw me so long remain faithful to the memory of one who had so grossly deceived me, did you not tell me I mourned an unworthy object?"
"Why did I not tell you this?"
"Yes; I asked wherefore did you not disclose the truth to me?"
"Because I would rather your affections were engrossed by the dead than the living."
"And when I spoke before you of my reluctance to return the love of M. de Morville upon the plea of my scruples at proving false to the memory of Raphael, why did you not dissipate my regrets by a single word?"
"I tell you, as I said before, because I had much rather see your heart occupied by the dead than the living; and also because I trusted and hoped that the remembrance of Raphael would effectually exclude M. de Morville from any place in your affections."
"Then you hate M. de Morville, also?" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, recoiling with horror from the infernal genius which seemed to prompt so young a girl to imagine and execute all she desired to have done.
Instead of immediately replying to this inquiry, Iris remained for several minutes thoughtful and silent; then, with a gloomy and overcast air, she resumed,—
"I have already said, that I hate and detest every person who loves you, or whom you love, with a hatred as deadly as I feel for your enemies. Such is my nature—such my unavoidable course."
"Then as regards M. de Morville?"