"He is a very good-looking man," said Genevieve.
"His arms are too long and he has not any decided colour. His face, his hair, his eyes are all of a neutral tint which you cannot define."
"But handsome men are very rare!"
Esperance did not answer.
"There is the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, too. Do you like him any better?"
The moon shone full on Esperance's face.
"Great Heavens, dearie," exclaimed Genevieve quickly, "you are not in love with that man, I hope."
"Don't speak so loud," said Esperance, frightened. "No, I am not in love with the Duke, but he bothers me, I confess. He is continually in my mind, and the thought of him makes the blood rush to my heart. When he is present I can struggle against him, but I have no strength against the picture of him I so often conjure up. That dominates me more than he can do himself. That seems innocent enough, but I know very well all the same, that I find every excuse for dwelling on the thought of him. No, I do not love him … but still…." she murmured very low.
Genevieve took her friend in her arms.
"Esperance, darling, save yourself! Think of the downfall of your mother's happiness, think of the fearful remorse of your father. Think of your godfather's iniquitous triumph. Ah! I beg of you, accept the Count's love, become his wife, you will be constrained by your loyalty to save your father's honour. But the Duke…."