When she reached the middle of the room, she staggered. I jumped up, gave her my arm, and led her to a chair.
I stood facing her. We remained silent for a long time; her large eyes, full of unutterable grief, seemed to be searching in mine for something resembling hope; her wan lips vainly endeavoured to smile; her tender hands, which were folded upon her knees, were so thin and transparent that I pitied her.
“Princess,” I said, “you know that I have been making fun of you?... You must despise me.”
A sickly flush suffused her cheeks.
“Consequently,” I continued, “you cannot love me”...
She turned her head away, leaned her elbows on the table, covered her eyes with her hand, and it seemed to me that she was on the point of tears.
“Oh, God!” she said, almost inaudibly.
The situation was growing intolerable. Another minute—and I should have fallen at her feet.
“So you see, yourself,” I said in as firm a voice as I could command, and with a forced smile, “you see, yourself, that I cannot marry you. Even if you wished it now, you would soon repent. My conversation with your mother has compelled me to explain myself to you so frankly and so brutally. I hope that she is under a delusion: it will be easy for you to undeceive her. You see, I am playing a most pitiful and ugly role in your eyes, and I even admit it—that is the utmost I can do for your sake. However bad an opinion you may entertain of me, I submit to it... You see that I am base in your sight, am I not?... Is it not true that, even if you have loved me, you would despise me from this moment?”...
She turned round to me. She was pale as marble, but her eyes were sparkling wondrously.