"Forgive my indiscretion, madame; I have bitterly suffered for it."
"Explain yourself, sir."
"Closely attending upon my sick mother, I rarely quitted the house, my only pleasure was to gaze daily from that window, and the hope of seeing you kept me whole hours there. At last you came, sometimes your steps were slow, sometimes rapid, and you frequently threw yourself as if in agony on a marble seat, or stood motionless with your head buried in your hands. Alas, how often, when after these reveries you raised your head, was your countenance bathed in tears!"
At these words M. de Morville's voice faltered with emotion.
Madame de Hansfeld replied austerely,—
"We are not speaking, sir, of any moments of weakness you may have witnessed, but of a secret you are about to communicate."
M. de Morville regarded the princess with a sorrowful air, and continued,—
"After some few days,—forgive my presumption, madame,—I fancied I had penetrated the cause of your grief."
"Your penetration seems very great, sir."
"I was then suffering from the same cause (at least as I think) as that which at that moment tormented you. This was the secret I believed I had discovered."