At last, two days afterwards, my aunt came to inform me that, having at last overcome Hélène's violent objections to seeing me, she had induced her to grant me an interview, but she was entirely ignorant as to what decision Hélène would come. I went with her mother to her room. I was in a state of excitement impossible to describe. When I entered, I was greatly shocked at Hélène's appearance; she seemed to have suffered greatly, but her manner was cool, calm, and dignified. "I have sent for you, monsieur," said she, in a firm and penetrating voice, "to inform you of the decision I have taken after much reflection. It is very humiliating to me to remind you of an avowal which was so cruelly received, but I owe it to myself and to my mother. I loved you, and believing myself sure of the nobility and truth of the sentiments you had declared to me, trusting in the elevation of your nature, more from instinct than reflection, I had placed such blind confidence in you that our affectionate relation to one another passed in the eyes of the world for a guilty love,--so that at this very hour, monsieur, my reputation has been shamefully defamed." "Hélène, believe me," I cried, "that my whole life--" But imperiously making me a sign to be silent, she continued, "I have no one in the world but my mother to protect me; and, besides, if the most unfounded calumny always leaves an indelible stain, a calumny which is based on undeniable appearances ruins a woman's character for ever. I find, myself, then, monsieur, placed between dishonour, if I do not exact from you the only reparation public opinion ever accepts, or a miserable existence, in case I accept from you this reparation; for the doubts that you have expressed, and the words you have spoken, will remain engraved in my mind for ever and ever." "No, Hélène," I cried out, "the tenderest and truest words, the most sincere repentance will chase those dreadful words from your heart, if you will only be generous to be guided by a heaven-sent inspiration!" And I threw myself at her knees. She made me rise, and continued, with a _sang-froid_ which chilled my blood: "You must understand, monsieur, that, being perfectly indifferent to the opinion of a man whom I no longer esteem, and clear in my conscience, I prefer to pass in your eyes as mercenary--" "Hélène! Hélène! have pity on me!" "Than to pass in the eyes of the world as infamous," she added; "therefore, that reparation which you have offered me, I accept it." "Hélène, my dear child," said her mother, throwing herself into Hélène's arms, "Arthur, too, is generous and good; he has been out of his senses; have pity on him." "Hélène," said I, with exaltation, "I know your character,--you would have preferred dishonour to that life with a man you despise, if your instinct had not told you that, in spite of a moment of frightful error, I was still worthy of your love!"