“And I felt proud—prouder than I have felt in my life,” said she. “But now I see what I have lost—forfeited. Listen to me and I will tell you what my dream was. I had written that book, but I had no hope of printing it until I met you and heard from your lips—all that I heard.”
“It was the truth—then: I loved you—then.”
“I knew that it was the truth. But who was I that I should be beloved by you? I felt that it would be unendurable to me to hear people refer to us—as I knew they would—the great singer who had stooped to a nonentity.”
“Ah! that was the charm!”
“Who except you would have said so? I knew what they would say, and I made up my mind that I would not go to you except as an equal. I wanted you to marry someone of whom you would feel proud, and I thought that I had a little gift which I would lay at your feet. I did my best to perfect it for your sake; but even when the book was printed I would not give you my promise until I had assured myself that the gift would be pronounced worthy of your acceptance. That was why I put you off for so many months.”
“Ah, that was your mystery—you called it a mystery.”
“That was my secret—my mystery. Never mind; I thought that my hope was realized when everyone about me was talking of the book and when people whose opinion was valuable had said it was good—my one thought, God knows, was that I could go to you—that I could make you happy, since I should be thought by the world to be in some measure at least, worthy of you.”
“My poor child! you have not made me happy, but miserable. No one can make me happy now. I do not love you now—you are a different person now, and you can never return to be what you were. That is the worst of all: you can never return to your former innocence.”
“I can bear to hear you say even that; for now I perceive the mistake I made. I should not have thought of the difference between us: I should only have had one thought—that you had offered me your love and that I was ready to offer you my love. That should have been enough for me. You were right, I was wrong. Good-bye.”
He looked at her for a few moments—tears were in his eyes and on his cheeks—then he turned away with a passionate gesture, crying in his native tongue: