"What love like hers," said he to himself, "if there is a place in her heart for any other sentiment besides that of maternity! How beautiful she was to-day, what bewitching expressions animated her face! Oh! I feel it, now is my hour of peril, of struggle, and of suffering! Yes, the tears of Marie are consecrated! I felt it was a sacrilege to lift my eyes to this young weeping mother, so beautiful in her tears. Yet she is now radiant with the joy she owes to me, and in her ingenuous gratitude, her tender eyes sought me whenever she looked upon Frederick. And think of what her son said to her,—'Love him, cherish him, bless him,'—and the expressive silence, the pathetic glance of this adorable woman, perhaps, may make me believe some day—"
David, not daring to pursue this thought, resumed with sadness:
"Oh, yes, the hour of suffering, the hour of resignation has come. Confess my love, or let Marie suspect it, when she owes so much to me? Lead her to believe that my devotion to her concealed another design? Lead her to believe that, instead of yielding spontaneously to the interest this poor child inspired,—thanks to the memory of my lamented brother,—I made a cloak, a pretext of this interest to surprise the maternal confidence of a young woman? In fact, to lose, in her eyes, the only merit of my devotion, my sudden loyalty,—indiscreet, yes, very indiscreet, I see it all now,—alas, shall I degrade myself in the eyes of Marie? never! never!
"Between her and me will be always her son.
"To fly from this love, shall I leave the house where this love is always growing?
"No, I cannot do so yet.
"Frederick to-day, in the intoxication of this revelation which has changed his gloomy despair into a will full of faith and enthusiasm,—Frederick, suddenly lifted from the abyss where he had fallen, experiences the delight of the prisoner all at once restored to liberty and light, yet does not this cure need to be established? Will it not be necessary to moderate the impetuosity of this young and ardent imagination in its enthusiastic conceptions of the future?
"And then, it may be, the first exultation passed,—to-morrow perhaps,—Frederick, on the other hand, more self-reliant, and better comprehending the generous efforts necessary to reach the fountainhead of envy, will remember with more bitterness than ever the dreadful deed that he wished to commit,—his desire to murder Raoul de Pont Brillant. A fruitful and generous expiation, then, is the only thing which can appease this remorse which has tempted Frederick to commit suicide.
"No, no, I cannot abandon this child yet; I love him too sincerely, I have the completion of my work too much at heart.
"I must remain.