She came towards me.
"M. Maxime, I swear to you that I am a virtuous girl."
"I believe it, mademoiselle, but I must warn you that in this little romance, perfectly innocent, no doubt, on your side, whatever it may be on the other, you are imperilling your reputation and your peace of mind. I beg you to reflect seriously on this matter, and at the same time I beg to assure you that no one but you will ever hear a word on this subject from me."
I was leaving the room, when she sank on her knees before a couch, and burst out sobbing, leaning her forehead against my hand, which she had seized. It was not long since I had seen sweeter and nobler tears, but still I was touched.
"Come, my dear young lady," I said; "it is not too late, is it?"
She shook her head decisively.
"Very well, my child. Be brave, and we will save you. What can I do to help you—tell me? Has this man any proof, any letter, I can demand from him on your behalf? Command me as if I were your brother."
She released my hand angrily.
"How hard you are!" she said. "You talk of saving me ... it is you who are ruining me. After pretending to love me, you repulsed me ... you have humiliated me and made me desperate. You are the sole cause of what has happened."
"Mademoiselle, you are unjust. I never pretended to love you. I had a sincere affection for you, and I have it still. I admit that your beauty, your wit, and your talents fully entitle you to look for more than fraternal friendship from those who see you every day. But my situation, and my duties to my family preclude my indulging any other feeling for you without being dishonourable. I tell you frankly that I think you are charming, and I assure you that in restricting my sentiments towards you within the limits imposed by loyalty, I have not been without merit. I see nothing humiliating for you in that; what might, indeed, humiliate you, mademoiselle, would be the determined pursuit of a man determined not to marry you."