"Now that I know what love is, I say No."
"Do not then suffer from remorse. Love cannot be forced. Do you think you love this Leverani? seriously? religiously? ardently?"
"So do I feel in my heart. Unless indeed he be unworthy."
"He is not unworthy."
"Indeed, my father!" said Consuelo, carried away by gratitude, and seeking to kneel before the old man.
"He is as worthy of intense love as Albert himself. You must, however, renounce him."
"It is I then who am unworthy?" said Consuelo sadly.
"You will be worthy, but you are not free. Albert of Rudolstadt is not dead."
"My God! pardon me," murmured Consuelo, falling on her knees, and hiding her face in her hands.
The confessor and penitent maintained a long and painful silence. Ere long Consuelo, remembering what Supperville had said, was struck with horror. This old man, whose appearance had filled her with veneration, could he lend himself to such an infernal plot? Did he betray the sensibility of the unfortunate Consuelo, and cast her into the arms of a base impostor? She looked up, pale with terror, with dry eyes and quivering lips. She attempted to pierce the impenetrable and unimpressionable mask, which, it may be, concealed the criminal's pallor, or the hellish sneer of a villain.