"Ah!" the count muttered, "I was not mistaken." In spite of the blow this discovery dealt his vanity, the count uttered these words with a mental satisfaction at having guessed correctly: this man, whoever he was, could only be a lover.
Still, though the two spoke softly, they did not lower their voices so as to render them inaudible at a short distance, and while blaming himself for the indelicate action he was committing, the count, excited by vexation and possibly by unconscious jealousy, parted the branches and bent forward again for the purpose of listening.
The young lady was speaking. "Good heaven," she said with emotion, "I tremble, my friend, when I pass several days without seeing you: my anxiety is extreme and I even fear a misfortune."
"Confound it," the count muttered, "that fellow is dearly beloved."
This aside made him lose the man's reply. The young lady continued:
"Am I condemned to remain much longer here?"
"A little patience: I trust that everything will be ended soon," the stranger answered in a low voice; "and what is he doing?"
"He is still the same, as gloomy and mysterious as ever," she replied.
"Is he here tonight?"
"Yes."