A pained exclamation broke from Goutran's breast, and he hid his face in his hands. He felt as if a dagger had struck him in the heart.
"Yes," continued Carmen, with a smile of contempt, "this old man, for reasons of his own, insisted on my bearing his name. Do not condemn me too greatly," she continued, "I was not sixteen when I fell into the trap that this man laid for me. Think of it!"
"The miserable scoundrel!"
"Yes, he ruined me, body and soul! All the finer instincts of my nature he sneered at. He taught me to despise everything—himself, myself! For five long years I endured this martyrdom. When we reached Paris, he added another wrong to those he had already inflicted on me. He compelled me to profane the sacred name of father, and yet I did not realize my shame until the day I met you. I sat to you for my portrait, and as you talked I felt a whole new world opening before me. I knew then, for the first time, that I was unworthy of the love of an honest man. Ah! Goutran, how I have suffered in loving you!"
And the poor girl sank on her knees, a very Magdalen.
Goutran laid his hand on her head.
"Carmen, these avowals prove to me that I was not wrong in thinking you the best and the most adorable woman in the world!"
"You do not loathe me, then?"
"Have I any right to be your judge? I have certainly received a sad shock."