Madame de Hansfeld shuddered, but remained silent.
"Each day I dropped at the foot of the set a memento," &c.
"Ah, madame, I repeat, I had suffered too much myself not to recognise the same sufferings in you by indescribable, yet manifest symptoms. With what eager curiosity did I strive to read your thoughts in your countenance! The part of the garden that you frequented most was separated from the rest by a gate which you opened or shut at pleasure. You alone could enter into this secluded alley. I ventured on a folly; each day I dropped at the foot of the seat where you were accustomed to repose, a sort of memento of the reflections which, as I believed, had agitated you on the previous evening. How shall I describe my suspense, my anguish, when I saw you first open my letter. Never shall I forget the expression of surprise you manifested after you had read it. Forgive these foolish recollections of the past; but I did not think you were offended, for, instead of destroying the letter, you retained it. One day your agitation was so great, that you did not perceive the letter—you seemed a prey to the most violent anger and grief. My own experience told me that your sorrow was not occasioned by any fresh event. It seemed to me rather some unhappy occurrence had been recalled to you. It was under this belief that I again wrote to you, and on the morrow, whilst you perused my letter, you wept."
Madame de Hansfeld made an impatient gesture.
"Oh, madame, do not blame me for dwelling on these recollections, they are my sole consolation. Thus encouraged by the anxiety with which you seemed to look for my letters, I wrote daily. Unhappily, my mother's illness assumed a threatening form; I never quitted her bedside for two nights—I thought but of her. The crisis was passed, she was out of danger. My first thought was then to hasten to my window. Soon after you entered the walk. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw you go quickly to the marble seat: there was no letter there. An exclamation of impatience escaped you. I dared to interpret it favourably."
M. de Morville glanced anxiously at Madame de Hansfeld. Her eyes were cast down, her arms folded, her face was devoid of expression. In thus speaking, in thus informing Madame de Hansfeld of the facts that he had discovered, De Morville cut off all hope of retreat; but he never expected to see the princess more, else he would not have been guilty of such a display of bad generalship.
"What can I say, madame?" replied he; "for two whole months I had the happiness of seeing you: every day when I learned you were on the point of quitting the house adjoining ours to inhabit the Hôtel Lambert, in the Isle St. Louis, oh, how sincere, how terrible was my emotion! Perchance it was only then that I really felt how much I loved you."
At these last words, uttered by M. de Morville in a tone of deep emotion, Madame de Hansfeld raised her head suddenly; her cheeks became deeply tinged, as she replied, with a satirical smile, "This strange confession, sir, is doubtless connected with the secret you are about to reveal to me."
"Yes, madame."