Odile half rose from her chair as if to protest against any harsh judgment of her father, but seeing me myself undertake his defence, she sank back, and covering her face with her hands, burst into tears.
"God bless you, monsieur," she murmured; "had you entertained a suspicion of my father, it would have killed me!"
"Why, mademoiselle! Who could mistake for realities the unreasoning actions of the somnambulist?"
"That is true, monsieur. I had reflected upon this myself—but appearances—I feared—pardon me—but I should have remembered that you are a man of honor."
"Pray, dear Countess, calm yourself!" I exclaimed, feeling myself on the verge of losing my composure, so deeply was I moved by the grief of my beloved mistress.
"No," she cried; "let me weep. These tears are a relief. I have suffered so for the past ten years! This secret, so long locked in my breast, was killing me, and I should have died at last like my dear mother! God has taken pity on me, and he has sent you to share the burden with me. Let me tell you all, monsieur, let me—" She could not continue; her voice was stifled in sobs. Her proud and high-strung nature, after having conquered grief so long, had succumbed to the fateful happening of the night before; the seal once broken and her secret betrayed, her vanquished nature, still struggling to shield its sacred trust, sought a grateful relief in unrestrained tears.
My one sentiment of love and sympathy, repressed until that moment, now demanded expression with a power which I was unable to gainsay. I cast all prudence to the winds, and dropping on one knee beside Odile, I seized the delicate hands that covered her face and drew them gently away until her sorrowing glance rested on my face.
"Odile!" I said, as her name rose naturally to my lips, in a voice so choked with emotion as to be hardly more than a whisper, "forgive my rashness, but it no longer rests with me to speak or not as I choose! I might never have said anything of this, at least not now, but your suffering affects me so powerfully that to be silent longer is not within my power. It must have been evident to you, had you cared to read it, that I love you and have loved you, far, far dearer than life itself, ever since my eyes first rested upon you in the Count's chamber, that first night when I came to the Castle. I cannot ask pardon for it! No! For I am convinced that no man could be near you for even this brief time and experience the wonderful charm of your being, to say nothing of witnessing your present sorrow, without feeling himself moved to the depths of his own nature. Odile, I love you! I see no goal in life but you, no future but one passed in your divine companionship; and though you might well reproach me for choosing such a moment to tell you so, believe me, it is through no wish to take advantage of your confidence. Did I feel myself guilty of such baseness, I should despise myself more than you could possibly do. Odile, my darling, I could not choose but speak. I must tell you this, even though it should be at the cost of your further favor!"
As I spoke, Odile's eyes were fastened on my face with an expression of surprise, indeed, but in it there was no trace of disfavor, and her hands were not withdrawn from mine. A bright flush that, for the first time since I knew her, had succeeded to her usual pallor, mounted to her cheeks and served to increase her matchless beauty.
She remained silent for some moments still, and I could perceive the agitation which my words had caused her, by the slight tremor of her frame and her quickened breathing.