“Well,” said Victor, “does she continue to please you?”
“More than I wish.”
“Why this regret?”
“It is only reasonable. My happiness is involved in being pleased with her.”
“Come, I see we shall not be able to agree on this point.”
“Yes, my dear friend; the more I reflect, the plainer it is that I ought not to become attached to her; at least, to make her aware of it, should such a misfortune happen. But I will not conceal it from you: I fear I already love her....”
“You are decidedly tenacious in your notions. Why do you torture yourself with scruples that are evidently exaggerated?...”
“All your friendly reasonings are of no avail. However disinterested my love might be, it would seem to her only the result of calculation; this is enough to justify me in my apprehensions.”
“I cannot agree with you. Delicacy of sentiment is a noble thing, but it must not be carried to excess. I am willing you should conceal your love for her till you can prove it sincere; that is, not the result of calculation—I will go still further: till the time comes when they voluntarily render homage to the nobleness of your intentions. But when that day comes, and you see that Mlle. Eugénie esteems and loves you....”
“She will never love me.”