“In any case, Don Frederico, it is ungrateful.”
These bitter, and at the same time affectionate words, caused Stein the utmost emotion. He covered his face with both hands, and his long-repressed grief burst forth in sobs.
The duke approached him.
“Don Frederico,” said he to him, “there is no indiscretion in confiding one’s griefs to a friend. In the grave circumstances of life, every thing obliges those who suffer to receive the good counsel of those who are interested in their happiness. Speak to me, my friend, open your heart to me. You are too much agitated at this moment to act with coolness. Your reason is too much troubled to allow you to be directed wisely. Let us sit down. Listen to me: let me guide you in circumstances which appear to me grave, imperious, and receive my advice as I would receive yours under like circumstances.”
Stein was vanquished. He took a seat near to the duke, and both remained for a long time silent. Stein broke through it at last.
“My lord duke,” said he, “what would you do if the duchess preferred another man?—if she practised infidelity towards you?”
“Doctor! this question—”
“Answer me!” supplicated Stein, a prey to the most intense anxiety.
“By heaven! both should die by my hand.”
Stein bowed his head.