“Tell me your business, please,” she said.
“It’s nothing to do with Maurice,” he replied blankly.
“What is it then?”
She made a step toward him, and threw back the veil, which had embarrassed her movements and half concealed her. Coming to him thus, straight and rigid, she seemed to him more distant still. Her face, between the black of her dress and her bonnet, stood out so pale, with bruised eyes and lips like a single red line, that he felt her far away from him and sorrowful. He feared lest he should not move her, yet he was greedy to bring her the comfort of his passionate tenderness. He kept back his tears, and summoning all his courage, began to speak, stammering at first, then going on in a voice which little by little grew more firm:
“Miss Roquevillard, listen to me. You must listen. Then you can understand and forgive me. I must speak to you, and speak to-day. I respect your grief. I feel it with you. I have suffered, too, myself, ever since the day.... And my suffering has made me understand others better. I loved you. Oh, don’t stop me! Let me finish. Yes, I loved you. I could not see any future for myself except with you. But I encountered so much opposition at home, so many obstacles, on account—on account of your brother. My mother, who is so good at heart, gives in to every prejudice. My father was set on my career. He is a man of science only. He lives in his office, or rather with his sick people. He’s not the ruler of his house. And I—oh, no, I don’t want to go on accusing other people to excuse my fault. I’ve been a coward, an abominable coward. But I have been well punished for it. I haven’t stood up for you—I haven’t known how to defend you.”
She had attempted at several points to interrupt him with a gesture. Erect again and unconsciously disdainful, she looked him in the face. In her action she showed the haughty air that came naturally to the Roquevillards and had won them so many enemies. But it was mitigated by the veiled melancholy in her eyes, and the mystic expression that came to her from her mother.
“I have not asked you to defend me,” she replied, simply.
“That’s true, Margaret....”
He gave up formality in his emotion, speaking to her as he had used to do in the time when they had been betrothed.
“I even wanted you to despise me,” he added.