"Yesterday my mother caused me the greatest pain by repeating to me all those frightful calumnies. Not seeing you all day, I believed that you were as much distressed as I, that you shared my grief in this matter. This is all I have to tell you, Arthur, this is how I came to love you, the way I love you now; but be merciful and cease to torment me thus, become what you have always been to me! Why are you so changed? I beseech you to tell me--what have I done?" While Hélène was telling me all this with such naïve and truthful simplicity, I had never taken my eyes off her; instead of being touched by her tender recital, I had been watching her with all the cruel and wary suspicion of a hostile and prejudiced judge; however, when she raised her beautiful eyes, so gentle and moist under their long lashes, she looked into mine with such candid assurance and so much serenity, that I must have been blind indeed, not to have read in them the noblest and deepest love. But, alas! when one is possessed by stubborn doubt, everything that tends to destroy that doubt irritates you beyond measure, and appears to be dictated by perfidy and falsehood; you persist all the more in your conviction, because you believe you would be tricked if you gave it up. The most undeniable truths become adroit lies, and the noblest and most sudden inspirations become so many snares deliberately set for you. It was thus with me, so I continued to play the unworthy part I had imposed on myself. "That is all very perfectly and cleverly thought out," I replied. "The causes and effects follow each other in the most perfect and logical succession; the fable is very plausible, and a stupider man than I would believe the whole story." "The fable! What fable?" said Hélène, who could not conceive my suspicions. But without answering her, I continued: "Since you can reason so wisely, how was it that you never reflected that, in permitting me to show you such assiduous preference, it was possible for you to be gravely compromised?" "I never thought of it, I never reflected, because I loved you; besides, how could I think that anything we did was wrong, when I was certain of your affection?" "Then from the very beginning you meant to marry me?" Hélène scarcely seemed to hear me, and said: "What did you say, Arthur?" "I said this," said I, impatiently, "that you felt perfectly sure that I meant to marry you?" "But," replied Hélène, more and more surprised, "I don't understand the meaning of the questions you ask me, Arthur. Think of what you are telling me! Heavens! after our vows of love! Have I ever had any doubts of you--of--?" Then interrupting herself, she cried out: "Ah, don't vilify yourself like that!" Her perfect assurance, or rather the blind confidence she had in my loyalty, so shocked my stupid pride that I had the horrible courage to add ('tis true that I spoke slowly and that my lips became dry as I uttered the words):