"I am all attention.
"Up to the period of your quitting the adjoining house to ours, I had often met you at the houses of my friends, and I had never made any effort to be presented to you. I found an indefinable charm in the mystery that enshrouded my love. I was utterly unknown to you—I who knew you so well—I who had been the unseen spectator of all the emotion and the sorrow you had suffered; and then to talk to you on those trivial and commonplace subjects that form every-day conversation, what pleasure would that have afforded me, after the hours, the days I have passed in silent and deep admiration! But, when your departure deprived me of this pleasure, then I acknowledged the value of those meetings that I had previously disdained, I determined to be introduced to you. You were on intimate terms with Madame de Lormoy, my aunt, who has the highest regard for you. As, in common with the rest of the world, she was ignorant of the strange chance that had linked me to you, I prayed her to present me to you. Unfortunately, the day after she had agreed to comply with my wishes, a revelation was made to me, that instead of seeking, I felt it my duty to avoid your society. Had it not been on account of my mother's health, I should have left Paris, in order to avoid you, and thus furnishing fresh fuel to my unhappy passion; for, know, madame, that if your indifference grieves me, your love would drive me to despair. You seem surprised—you do not understand me. Suppose then—and pardon the folly of the supposition—that you loved me as passionately as I love you, I should be the most miserable of men, for I could not return your affection without inflicting a death-blow on my mother, without trampling under foot the most sacred duty, the most solemn oath, without becoming forsworn and criminal."
"Criminal!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, rising from her seat, her features convulsed by fear and grief. This involuntary cry of the princess was, in fact, an avowal that betrayed her affection for De Morville, hitherto so carefully concealed.
Had he been really indifferent to Madame de Hansfeld, would she have manifested this despair, this emotion?—No! but she saw an impassable barrier arise between herself and M. de Morville. Had he not said, "Did you love me, I should be the most miserable of men, for I could not return your affection without becoming perjured, without inflicting a death-blow on my mother?"
De Morville was proverbial for his love of truth and his affection for his mother.
Madame de Hansfeld understood his meaning perfectly. A look of joy irradiated De Morville's face; he fancied he was loved in return, but that first transport past, he shuddered as he thought of the abyss of misery and sorrow which the involuntary exclamation of Madame de Hansfeld opened before him.
The princess was too much mistress of herself not to subdue instantly all traces of her transient emotion. Hoping to deceive De Morville, she said with an air of gaiety that quite confused him,—
"You must allow, sir, that my surprise, I may say, my terror, was tolerably natural on hearing you declare that my love would plunge you into crime and perjury. Good heavens! I shudder; yet what happiness must it be, then, for you to hear that I am utterly indifferent to your mad passion? On my word, sir, you are really too fortunate, henceforth you have every thing to preserve you from the temptation of being in love with me; for you have not only the knowledge of my indifference, but also the strongest motives that can decide a man. Only permit me to observe that among the obstacles that seemed to cross your love for me so insurmountably, you might have reckoned my marriage with the Prince de Hansfeld; allow me to remind you of that obstacle, and to say that in my eyes that is the most serious impediment of all. And now let me speak of your letters which I have received, because I could not help it; and which I read, and sometimes preserved, because a series of thoughts admirably worded, and supposed to be those of some ideal creature, could not be called a correspondence. You have too much real merit, sir," continued the princess, "to be vain; I have, therefore, no dread of wounding your pride as an author, by telling you, that if I read these your productions with curiosity and sometimes with a strong emotion, it was partly because of the mystery that enshrouded you, and partly because chance sometimes sent you thoughts so poetical and touching as to call forth my tears; for I am so unfortunate, or rather fortunate, as to shed tears during the perusal of any romance in the least degree impassioned and affecting."
"Ah, madame, this satire is too cruel."
"I could wish, sir, that this interview, began under such gloomy auspices, should at least end gaily; for, after all, are we not at a masked ball at the Opera? Besides, why should we part in sadness? I believed that you were acquainted with an annoying secret; it is not the case, my fears were futile and are forgotten. I have the recollection of my duty, to defend me from your declarations, as well as my utter indifference as to the revelation that has been made to you. Our position is perfectly clear, what more could any one desire? Farewell, this interview convinces me, that your high reputation is well merited, I know that I need not recommend you to secrecy on the subject of a step that would painfully compromise me. For precaution's sake, I will leave the box first; you will have the kindness to wait here a short time."