“No! leave the wretch to his despair!”
“Do you think me capable of that?” said Djalma, with a mixture of mildness and dignity, which seemed to make an impression on the half caste.
“Alas!” replied he, hesitating; “do you wish to hear more, my lord?”
“I wish to hear all.”
“Well, then! I have not told you all—for, at the moment of making this confession, shame and the fear of ridicule kept me back. You asked me what reason I had to believe myself betrayed. I spoke to you of vague suspicions, refusals, coldness. That is not all—this evening—”
“Go on!”
“This evening—she made an appointment—with a man that she prefers to me.”
“Who told you so?”
“A stranger who pitied my blindness.”
“And suppose the man deceived you—or deceives himself?”