"Albert lives?" said she. "Are you very sure? Do you know there is a man like him, whom even I fancied was him?"
"I know all that absurd story," said the old man. "I know all Supperville's mad fancies, and all he has done to exculpate himself from the blunder he committed in suffering a man who was merely in a state of lethargy, to be buried. Two words will destroy all that scaffolding of madness. The first is, that Supperville was declared unworthy of the secondary degrees of the secret societies, the supreme direction of which is in our hands, and his wounded vanity and diseased curiosity could not bear this degradation. The second is, that Count Albert never thought or intended to resume his place and rank in the world. He could not do so without giving rise to scandalous discussions in relation to his identity, which he could not bear. He perhaps did not understand his true duties in thus deciding. He would have been able to make a better use of his fortune than his heirs. He thus deprived himself of one way of doing good, which Providence had granted him. Enough, though, remain. The voice of love was more powerful in inducing him to do this, than conscience. He remembered that you did not love him, for the very reason that he was rich and noble. He wished to abandon forever both name and rank. He did so, and we consented. He will never pretend to be your husband, for such he became from your pity and compassion. He will have courage to renounce you. We have no greater power over him you call Leverani, and over yourself, than persuasion. If you wish to fly together, we cannot help it. We have neither dungeons nor constraint—we neither have any corporeal penalties, though a faithful servitor, somewhat credulous, may have told you so; but we hate all means of tyranny: your lot is in your hands. Think again, poor Consuelo, and may heaven direct you."
Consuelo had listened to this discourse in a profound state of stupor. When the old man was done, she arose and said with energy:
"I need no thought. My choice is made. Albert is here! Lead me to him."
"Albert is not here. He could not be a witness of this strife. He is even ignorant of what you now undergo."
"Dear Albert," said Consuelo lifting her hands to heaven, "I will conquer." Then kneeling before the old man, she said, "Father, absolve me, and aid me never to see this Leverani again! I do not wish; I will not love hm!"
The old man placed his trembling hands above Consuelo's head. When he removed them she could not arise. She had repressed her tears in her bosom; and, crushed by a contest beyond her power, she was forced to use the confessor's arm as she left the oratory.
[CHAPTER XXIX]
At noon on the next day the red-throat came to tap with its bill and claws at Consuelo's window. Just as she was about to open it, she observed a black thread crossed over its yellow breast, and an involuntary effort induced her to place her hand on the sash. She withdrew it at once, however.