"Yes, I thought—but I see no one about. Ah! what do we care for the world? What is the whole universe to me? You love me, dear Isaure! That assurance is perfect bliss to me! You love me, you are an orphan, you are dependent upon nobody; I too am my own master, and I shall be your husband! Yes, I shall be deemed worthy of so many charms, of such perfect innocence! Ah! I have known society sufficiently to be sure I could never find there anyone to be compared with you, and besides, your education and your manners are not those of a peasant; if I should desire to present you in society, you would be its brightest ornament. But no, we will live apart, for each other; to make us happy we shall have no need of those noisy dissipations of which you know nothing. My fortune is more than sufficient to satisfy all our wishes. I will buy a house in some lovely country district; I shall take delight in teaching you music and drawing myself, in reading with you those famous authors who enlighten our minds and rejoice our hearts; and if my inclination for letters, for the stage, calls me sometimes to Paris, I shall return to your arms to seek repose from the fatigues of the city. Ah! This prospect promises me the most blissful of lives; tell me that it will make you happy, too!"
For some moments past, while listening to Edouard, Isaure had become pensive, and her eyes no longer bore the expression of pleasure which had animated them; it seemed that her mind had been invaded by melancholy memories and new reflections; Edouard noticed this change, for the girl’s slightest feelings were expressed at once upon her features.
"What is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Are you angry that I have read your heart, that I know that you love me?"
"Oh, no, it isn’t that," replied the girl, with a sigh. "Why should I hide from you what I feel? One should always say what one thinks, should not one?"
"Yes, always."
"But perhaps I have done wrong to love you! I ought first to have found out—However, I did not try to resist—what I felt when I saw you was such perfect bliss!"
"Well, Isaure, why these regrets now that I swear to love you all my life, and propose to make you my wife?"
"Your wife!" replied the girl sadly, glancing at the White House. "Ah, yes! I should be very happy then; but perhaps it is not possible!"
"Why not? Aren’t you an orphan, alone on earth, since you lost the good people who adopted you?"
Isaure did not reply for some time, but at last she said, lowering her eyes: