Thereupon, with that mocking and silly cruelty fit for children, or happy, selfish people, who have never suffered, I put on a gay and careless manner, and, kissing her hand, replied: "What, I frighten you! That is not the effect I hoped to have on you in such a charming rendezvous!" The ironical way in which I uttered these words was so different from my habitual way of addressing Hélène that she opened her great eyes in astonishment, knowing not what I meant. Then, after a moment of silence, she added, "Arthur, my mother has told me all." "Ah, indeed!" I answered, with indifference. Then, closing the collar of her mantle, I added: "Take care, the fog is very damp and penetrating; you might catch cold." The poor child thought she must be dreaming. "What!" said she, joining her hands in stupefaction, "you don't see that it is all horrible, infamous?" "What does it all matter, since it is all a lie?" I answered, without changing countenance. "What does it matter? Does it make no difference to you that the woman who is to bear your name should be dishonoured before she becomes your wife?" At these words, which seemed to me the height of effrontery and the flagrant proof of the truth of my suspicions, I was seized with an uncontrollable desire for revenge, all my scruples vanished, and to-day I bless the hazard that retained on my lips the horrible words that came into my mind. Fortunately for me, I was disposed to be ironical, and I contained myself. "Hélène," said I, "our conversation should be grave and serious; be so good as to listen to me. You who are candour, loyalty, and disinterestedness personified," said I, with an accent of disgusting insolence,--which she never even noticed, so far above all suspicion was she conscious of being,--"I beg of you, answer me with perfect loyalty; our whole future is in the balance." With that instinctive divination which rarely is mistaken, Hélène guessed at my treachery, for she cried out in anguish: "Stop, Arthur, something extraordinary is passing in your mind. I have never seen you with such an icy, defiant look; you alarm me! In heaven's name, what have I done to you?" "You have done me no harm; but since you mean to bear my name, since you expect to be my wife,--and I am infinitely obliged to you for the confidence you have in the future, it does honour to both of us," I continued, with a smile which terrified her,--"you must reply to my questions." "Good God, with what a look you say that, Arthur! I don't understand; what does it all mean? What must I answer?" "Hélène, when for the first time you began to interest yourself in my presence, or my future, when you began to love me, what was your object, your motive?"