"There is a secret, Helen," I said, assuming as calm a tone as I could, "which I cannot go into Spain without communicating to some one, as it is one of the greatest importance, and I have fixed upon you to tell it to, because, I am sure, you will keep it well and truly; without, indeed," I added, "I were by any chance to die in Spain, when you may freely reveal it--nay, more, I request you would do so to both my parents."
Helen was deceived, and looked up with some degree of curiosity, brushing back the dark ringlets from her clear fair brow. "Will you promise me, Helen," I asked, "by all you hold most sacred, never to reveal my secret so long as I am in life?"
"Had you not better make some other person the depositary of so serious a trust?" she answered, half afraid, half curious still.--"Think, Count Louis, I am but a poor inexperienced girl--tell it to Father Francis, he will both respect your secret and counsel you as to your actions."
"He will not do," I replied. "Besides, he is going with me. Will you promise me, Helen? It is necessary to my happiness."
"Oh, then I will," replied she, with a tone and a look that went to my very heart, and had almost made me cast myself at her feet at once.
"You must know, then, Helen," I proceeded, "that there is, on this earth, one sweet girl that I love more than any other thing that it contains"--while I spoke, she turned so deadly pale, that I thought she was going to faint again. "Listen to me, Helen," I continued, rapidly--"listen to me, dear Helen--I love her, I adore her, and I would not offend her for the world. If, therefore, I pained her for one instant, by robbing her lips of a kiss in the full joy of my return, I am here to atone it by any penance which she may think fit to impose."
While I spoke, my arm had glided round her waist, and my hand had clasped one of hers. Helen's head sunk upon my shoulder, and she wept so long, that I could have fancied her deeply grieved at the discovery of my love, but that the hand which I had taken remained entirely abandoned in mine, and that, from time to time, she murmured, "Oh, Louis!" in a voice indistinct to anything but the ears of love.
At length, however, she recovered herself, and raised her head, though she still left her hand in mine:--"Oh, Louis," she said, "you have made me both very happy and very unhappy: very happy, because I am sure that you are too generous, too noble, to deceive, even in the least, a poor girl that doubts not one word from your lips; but I am very unhappy to feel sure, as I do, that neither your father nor your mother will ever consent that you should wed any one in the class bourgeoise, even though it were their own little Helen, on whom they have already showered so many bounties. It cannot be, indeed it cannot be! The very mention of it would make them wretched, and that must never happen, on account of one who owes them so deep a debt of gratitude."
I tried to persuade her, as I had persuaded myself, that in time they would consent; but I failed in the endeavour, and as the first agitation subsided, and she began to reflect upon her situation at the moment, she became anxious to leave me.--"Let me return home," she said; "and oh, Louis! if you love me, never try to meet me in this way again, for I shall always feel like a guilty thing when I see your mother afterwards. I have your secret, and as I have promised, I will keep it: you have mine, and let me conjure you to hold it equally sacred. Forget poor Helen Arnault as soon as you can, and marry some lady in your own rank, who may love you perhaps as----"
The tears prevented her going on.