At this word, Vera raised her head. “Enemies!” she said. “Well, yes, at present we are.”
What did she mean? Fleurange crossed her arms, and looked at her attentively, trying to guess the meaning of her enigmatical words, and the still more obscure enigma of her face, which expressed by turns the most contradictory sentiments; the enigma of her eyes, which sometimes gazed at her with hatred, and then with sweetness and a humble, beseeching look. At length Vera seemed decided to continue. “You are right,” she said; “I must put an end to your suspense, and explain my strange conduct; but I need courage to do this. To come here as I have, to appeal to you as I am going to do, I must—I must, without knowing why—”
“Well,” said Fleurange with a faint smile, “continue. You must what?”
Vera went on in a low tone, as if affected: “I must have had a secret instinct that you were kind and generous.”
This result of so much hesitation did not throw any light on the subject, but only made it more obscure.
“There has been preamble enough,” said Fleurange, with a calm accent of firmness. “Speak clearly now, Countess Vera, tell me everything without reservation. You may believe [pg 740] nothing to fear. Though your words do me an injury I can neither foresee nor comprehend, speak, I insist upon it. Hesitate no longer.”
“Well, here,” said Vera, suddenly throwing on the table a paper till now concealed.
Fleurange took it, looked at it, and blushed at first, then turned pale. “My petition!” she said. “You have brought it back? It has been refused, then?”
“No; it was not sent.”
“You mean that the empress, after showing me so much kindness, changed her mind and refused to present it?”