Touquet became pale and trembling, and murmured, lowering his eyes,—
"I swear to you, monsieur le marquis—"
"Make an end of this," said Villebelle, interrupting him. "Listen to me. I love, what do I say, I adore this young girl whom I have seen only for a moment; for a very long time I have not experienced sensations similar to those I felt in her presence. This is not a passing caprice; these are not desires to which the heart is a stranger. No, on seeing Blanche I felt moved, uneasy, softened. I cannot define all that passed within me. It seemed to me that I recognized that lovely child—that my love for her had existed for a long time. After that you must divine that it is impossible henceforth to live without her. Blanche must be mine; I am capable of every sacrifice in order to arrive at that end."
"Ah, monsieur, that is what I feared," said Touquet, who appeared to be really grieved at what he heard. "You wish to make Blanche your mistress!"
"I wish to make her happiness; I feel that my love for her will be lifelong."
"That is impossible, monseigneur. Blanche is about to be married to a young man whom she loves. You must see that your love cannot render her happy."
For some moments the marquis walked up and down the room, then he cried passionately,—
"I repeat to you, Blanche must be mine—it must be so. I will leave no means unemployed to attain this end. She cannot yet love her destined husband; she has only known him for a few days."
"Monseigneur, who has informed you as to all this?"
"What does that matter to you? That love is but a passing sentiment and I shall know how to make her forget it by overwhelming her with presents, with jewels, and by seeking to invent new pleasures to make each day delightful to her."