"Happily I have the courage you lack."
"Oh, you do not love me?"
"Not love you? But let us not talk of that at this moment, and tell me under what excitement you were when you wrote me the note which so much alarmed me, and has brought me hither this evening?"
"Not knowing how else to address you, I relied on the fidelity of your young companion; and besides, the billet was incomprehensible to all but you. Had it fallen into M. de Hansfeld's hands it could not have compromised you."
"I recognised in this your usual tact; but the cause of this note?"
"Your calmness makes me ashamed of myself. I, too, have courage; and I feel my obligation to you for recalling me to myself. Well, then, this it is which has now overwhelmed me. Yesterday my mother sent for me,— she was weaker, and suffering more than usual. I hardly dare to think that for some time past I have been less attentive to her."
"Ah! you do not know the pain you give me to hear you speak thus."
"She told me, after some hesitation, that she felt her strength exhausted; and that she knew she could not long survive. She expected from me a fresh proof of my submission to her wishes; it would make her last moment's tranquil. I begged her to explain, and she spoke to me of one of our most intimate connexions, whom she named to me, one of our oldest friends, who had a charming and accomplished daughter."
"I see it all," said Madame de Hansfeld, with firmness; "for heaven's sake, proceed."
"Proceed! Why should I tell you more? My mother urged me to promise her that I would be married whilst she was yet alive, that was, immediately. I refused. She asked me if I had any objection to make to the beauty, birth, and qualities of the young lady. I replied that I acknowledged them all, and that she was remarkably accomplished; but I told my mother, too, that I would not be married. Then she began to weep. Strong emotion is too distressing for her, weak as she is, and she fainted. I believed that I was going to lose her, and all my tenderness revived. When she came to herself, my mother pressed my hand, and with cutting tenderness begged my pardon for having sought to thwart me in my wishes; adding, that she would not again advert to the subject. But I know, I feel that I have struck her a deep blow by my refusal, the consequences of which I dare not even think of. She had built all her greatest, her final hopes on this marriage. Yesterday she was worse. I found her deeply dejected, but she did not say one word relative to this union. Yet, in spite of her soft and saddened smile, I read all her disappointment in her features, and left her with my heart rent in twain. Her failing health will not, I fear, withstand such violent shocks. Well, then, tell me, Paula, can any lot be more wretched than mine? My senses seem to have forsaken me. Was it not sufficient to be separated from you by a solemn oath? It interdicted me from the present, but then at least it left me the future. Now it is necessary, to render my mother's dying hours easy and tranquil, that I should resign myself to this hateful, impossible marriage, which will destroy even the faint hopes which remain to me. Once again, it shall not be! no, no, a thousand times no! Paula, if you love me—if you are capable of sacrificing as much as I sacrifice for you—and we shall not have to blush in each other's presence——"