“Your tears will be repaid you,” he added in a faltering voice. “You weep for a man who worships you, and who blesses God for having known you—and when you think afterwards of how much it meant to me to meet this tenderness I could not take, you will not regret those tears, Clémence.”
He heard her sobs lessen as she struggled to master her tears; he heard her move towards him.
“Take me,” she muttered. “I wish it—I meant what I said—I am yours. I could make you happier—let me—I will keep my word.”
“Ah, hush!” he answered hoarsely; “you have not even seen me.”
“You take away my courage,” she interrupted. “I could have done it—you would never have known.” She broke into sobs again. “Why did you do it? Why was everything so cruel? I think I shall go mad. Luc, Luc, I loved you—on my soul I did! I would have died for you. But why did you go away and come back changed—changed to me? You do not want my love! You refuse my faith! Who was that woman you went with? Where is she now?”
“Dead—dead—dead.”
“Ah! Does it matter to you?”
Luc felt his way nearer to her. He moved into the dim circle of the fire-glow; he could make out her misty shape.
“Do you not want me?” she asked, and her voice was steady now.
“Yes,” said Luc—“more than I ever wanted you. You asked about the—Countess. She was brave and kind and, I think, had virtues I know not of. I was never more than outside her life—she was not of the same blood—she did not understand. You do—you know what I can do—you will not tempt me.”