There was a solemn pause. Between these strange natures, both high and noble, a terrible destiny seemed pending at this moment, and both felt it.
At length Camors responded in a grave, calm voice: “It is impossible, Mademoiselle, that you can appreciate the trial to which you expose me; but I have searched my heart, and I there find nothing worthy of you. Do me the justice to believe that my decision is based neither upon your fortune nor upon my own: but I am resolved never to marry.” She sighed deeply, and rose. “Adieu, cousin,” she said.
“I beg—I pray you to remain one moment,” cried the young man, reseating her with gentle force upon the sofa. He walked half across the room to repress his agitation; then leaning on a table near the young girl, said:
“Mademoiselle Charlotte, you are unhappy; are you not?”
“A little, perhaps,” she answered.
“I do not mean at this moment, but always?”
“Always!”
“Aunt de la Roche-Jugan treats you harshly?”
“Undoubtedly; she dreads that I may entrap her son. Good heavens!”
“The little Tonneliers are jealous of you, and Uncle Tonnelier torments you?”