“But I thought....” She hesitated; it was difficult to put the thought into the right words.
“You thought that love always led to happiness?” said Hermann, finishing the sentence for her, while he looked at her with a curious glance. Why had she come to cry in this lonely place?
“I don’t know what it leads to. I shall never know,” said Alba very gravely.
M. le Comte smiled. “Tell me, Alba, why were you crying so bitterly just now?”
She turned away her head and made no answer.
“Tell me, sweet Alba,” persisted the young man; “perhaps I can help you if you are in trouble. Trust me with your secret. As I am a soldier and a gentleman, I will defend you if I can. Tell me, is there some one you care for who does not know it?”
She shook her head. “It is not I who care.... I wish I could, but I have tried my best and I cannot love him!” The tears welled up again and were flowing freely.
“Who is forcing you to love him? Tell me his name and I will protect you from him. I swear to you I will!” And Hermann, with a soldier’s instinctive gesture, put his hand to his sword, while his eye kindled with chivalrous anger. Alba thought him the ideal of a noble knight, as she looked at him, terrified and enchanted.
“He is not forcing me, monseigneur,” she said, “and you can do nothing to help me. I have promised to marry, and I must keep my word.”
“You shall not, by heaven, if it makes you wretched! He is a cowardly dog who would hold you to your word against your will,” protested the count hotly.