I had scarcely heard what she said. Her projects, as I have said, had awakened those horrid suspicions that for two months of supreme delight were dormant in my breast. The profound and pious adoration of her former husband, which I had taken as an explanation of Marguerite's way of living, was nothing but a vulgar fable invented to deceive me. I believed more obstinately than ever in the truth of all the stories I had heard. I was enraged to think that, in a moment of sentimental confidence, I should have forgotten all my wise maxims, and lost my powers of penetration and sagacity. An overpowering resentment filled my heart. Taking for granted that what Marguerite had just proposed to me with so much affectionate graciousness had been proposed to others in the same manner, and with the same pretended simplicity, and revolting from such gratuitous falsehood, I saw that I would be playing a most detestable rôle should I pretend to believe in this sudden desire for love in a cottage, which I was supposed to have awakened in Marguerite's heart. Gathering all my hatred and scorn into one ironical frown, I replied: "Your plan is certainly a very charming one, and your idea of a mysterious retreat in the heart of Paris would be very original if it were not a copy. For my part, there are certain circumstances that would make such a plan seem very flat and uninviting." "_Mon Dieu!_ How can you treat my proposal with such coldness?" said Marguerite, noticing my changed appearance. "I longed so to please you, I hoped you would share my pleasure, I was so happy, so intensely happy, in this future of mysterious love." "That delightful joy shows the perpetual youth of your feelings. Were it not for this rejuvenating power of yours, you would, probably, be rather weary of mysterious love by this time!" "What do you mean to say?" "I mean to say that it would not be the first time your beautiful and secret retreat had witnessed such mysterious and passionate love scenes as those in which I am expected to enact the hero's part." "Truly, I do not understand you, Arthur,--ah, for Heaven's sake, explain yourself! I know not why, but you seem to have turned me to ice." "You wish for an explanation? So shall it be. To hear the answer to well-known riddles is another one of your whims, but it is no more than a fancy for trying each successive lover's devotion by a dose of solitude. It is the last experiment, and, if successful, each man can be classified according to his merit."