“For example,” continued Adelardi, looking at him attentively, “more than one of your companions in misfortune have had a signal proof of such courage to-day.”
“How so?”
“Do you not know that their wives have fearlessly and unhesitatingly requested and obtained the favor of sharing their lot? Some are to accompany them in their sad journey; others will follow them.”
“And have their husbands accepted such a sacrifice?”
“They who inspire such great devotedness can generally comprehend and accept it. It was only yesterday, one of them conversing with a friend admitted to see him, as I to see you, said: ‘I can submit to anything now; I can endure my fate without murmuring; I shall not be separated from her. The only intolerable sorrow in life will be spared me. I am grateful to the emperor, and will no longer complain!’ I must add that he was recently married, and adores his wife.”
“The only sorrow,” repeated George slowly—“the only one!—that is really something I cannot understand. To love a woman to such a degree as to feel her presence could alleviate such a lot as ours, and that never to behold her again, would be a misfortune surpassing that which awaits us! No, I do not understand that, I frankly confess.”
“And yet,” said Adelardi, with some eagerness.—But he stopped and did not continue his thought—that one can accept and admire heroic affection, but not suggest it.
“And yet,” continued George, smiling, “how often you have seen me in love, you were going to say. Yes, I acknowledge it, though perhaps I was sincerely so but once, only once, and yet—shall I confess it, Adelardi? Love even then was a holiday in my life; it added to its brightness; it was an additional enjoyment, another charm. Her beauty; her rare, naïve intelligence; even her virtue, which gave a mysterious attraction to the passionate tenderness sometimes betrayed, in spite of herself, by her eyes, so innocent and frank in their expression; Oh! yes, that time I was in love and ready to commit a folly I am now glad to have avoided. Poor Fleurange! If I had married her, what a fate I should have reserved for her, as well as for myself.”
“For her! Yes, indeed; it was a very different lot your affection promised her when you displayed it without any scruple; but if she—she, charming, devoted, and courageous, [pg 607] were there with you, do you not imagine she could sweeten yours?”
“Mine?—my lot?—the frightful lot that awaits me?” asked George, with a bitter laugh. Then he resumed the previous tone of their conversation.