"They are the last words I shall ever say to you in my life, mademoiselle."
There was something so sad and yet so proud in the voice, face, and bearing of this model young man that Mlle. de Beaumesnil was overwhelmed with astonishment.
Nevertheless, she continued, still trying to smile:
"What, monsieur, I am never to see you again after all—all Mlle. Helena has said about—about—"
"Listen, mademoiselle," said M. de Macreuse, interrupting her; "it is impossible for me to keep up this farce any longer—or to express any longer sentiments that are and ever will be farthest from my thoughts."
"To what farce do you allude, monsieur?"
"I came here, mademoiselle, expecting to find in you the pious, sensible, generous, kind-hearted, honest young girl of whom Mlle. Helena has always spoken in terms of the highest praise. It was to such a girl that my first remarks were addressed, but the frivolous, sneering manner in which they were received disappointed and even shocked me."
"Can I believe my ears?" thought Ernestine. "What on earth does he mean?"
"Then a terrible doubt seized me," continued M. de Macreuse, with a heavy sigh. "I said to myself that perhaps you did not possess those rare virtues which I so greatly admire and which I was confident I should find in you, but I could not and would not believe it at first, preferring to attribute your words to the thoughtlessness of youth. But alas! your frivolity, vanity, hardness of heart, and impiety became more and more apparent as our conversation proceeded. I wished to convince myself thoroughly, however, and though my heart bled each moment, I wanted to overcome your insensibility to all that is pitiable, your contempt for all that is sacred. I even went so far as to seem to scoff at that which is dearest to me in life,—my religion and the memory of my mother."
And a tear glistened on the lashes of the abbé's disciple.