"I do not believe you," said Esterhazy, calmly. "You have invented this story of your love for that end; but it is a falsehood, for you are as cold as an icicle."
"Oh, I wish that I were. For this love is my greatest misfortune. Look at me, count. Does this seem like dissimulation?"
And she raised up to his view a face, scarlet with blushes, and eyes filled with burning tears.
"No, countess," sail Esterbazy, after contemplating her earnestly, "I will believe the tears that glisten in your speaking eyes. But now, answer me one question. Your confidence gives me the right to ask it. Is your love returned?"
She remained silent, as if communing with herself, while every trace of color vanished from her cheeks.
"No," said she, at last, with quivering lips. "No, he does not know it; and if he did, he could not offer me his hand."
"Then," replied Esterhazy, coolly, "your love is no impediment to our marriage. Cherish it, if you choose; raise altars to this unknown god, and deck them with the brightest flowers of devotion. I will not inquire the name of your deity. Your secret is safe, even from myself. I, on the contrary, have never loved. My heart stands with doors and windows open, ready to receive its mistress; and as the empress has selected you, it waits joyfully for you to take possession."
The countess laid her hand upon his arm, and grasped it like a vise.
"You will not recede!" said she, hoarsely. "You still persist in desiring me for your wife?"
"You have told me that your love is hopeless, therefore is mine hopeful.
Perhaps one day it may succeed in winning yours."