"I did not imagine you would choose to have your solitude broken in upon. I believe you have always expressed a wish to be alone when you did not receive company?"
"Perhaps I may have done so," said Clémence, with a smile; "but let me, for once, plead my sex's privilege of changing my mind, and so, even at the risk of astonishing you by my caprice, I will own that I should greatly prefer sharing my solitude with you,—that is, if it would be quite agreeable to you."
"Oh, how very good of you," exclaimed M. d'Harville, with much delight, "thus to anticipate my most ardent desire, which I durst not have requested had you not so kindly encouraged me!"
"Ah, my lord, your very surprise is a severe reproach to me."
"A reproach! Oh, not for worlds would I have you so understand me! But to find you so kindly considerate, so attentive to my wishes, after my cruel and unjust conduct the other day, does, I confess, both shame and surprise me; though the surprise is of the most gratifying and delightful sort."
"Come, come, my lord," said Madame d'Harville, with a smile of heavenly sweetness, "let the past be for ever forgotten between us."
"Can you, Clémence," said M. d'Harville, "can you bring yourself to forget that I have dared to suspect you; that, hurried on by a wild, insensate jealousy, I meditated violence I now shudder to think of? Still, what are even these deep offences to the greater and more irreparable wrong I have done you?"
"Again I say," returned Clémence, making a violent effort to command herself, "let us forget the past."
"What do I hear? Can you,—oh, is it possible you will pardon me, and forget all the past?"