"Poor wretch, how he must suffer! A person must have a good deal of courage to endure such torture uncomplainingly. Such courage, combined with such amiability of character, as well as quiet dignity, at least indicates nobility of heart." Seeing how completely overcome Onésime seemed to be, Yvon asked, in rather more friendly tones: "How am I to interpret your silence? You do not answer me." "What can I say, monsieur?" "You confess it, then?" "Yes, monsieur." "And is my daughter ignorant of this love?" "Ignorant of it! Why, monsieur, I would rather die than reveal it to her. I thought I had concealed my secret in the depths of my innermost soul, so I have no idea how you can have discovered what I have almost succeeded in hiding from myself." "Why did you not endeavour to overcome a feeling that could only make you unhappy?" "Believing every one ignorant of it, I abandoned myself to it with delight. Up to this time I have only known misfortune. This love is the first happiness of my life, as it will be the only consolation of the dreary destiny that awaits me." "You would be separated from my daughter sooner or later. Did that thought never occur to you?" "No, monsieur, I did not stop to reflect. I think I loved merely for the happiness of loving. I loved without hope, but also without fear and without remorse." "So you were not even deterred by a fear that I would find out about this love some day or other?" "I did not reflect at all, as I told you just now. I loved only for the pleasure of loving. Ah, monsieur, when one is as I am, almost entirely isolated from external objects and the diversion of mind they cause, it is easy to yield oneself entirely to the solitary enjoyment of a single, all-absorbing passion." "But if your sight is so bad, you can scarcely know how my daughter looks." "During all the weeks I have been living in this house, I never saw Mlle. Sabine distinctly until this evening." "And why this evening rather than any other evening?" "Because she insisted on aiding my aunt in dressing a severe burn on my hand, and, while she was doing this, she came near enough for me to be able to distinguish her features perfectly." "In that case, how did you come to love her?" "How did I come to love her? Why, what I love in her," exclaimed Onésime, "is her noble and generous heart, the sweetness of her disposition, the charms of her mind. What do I love in her? Why, her sweet and soothing presence and her voice,--her voice, so gentle and touching when she utters words of friendly interest or consolation." "Then the thought that you might become Sabine's husband some day has never occurred to you?" "I love her too much for that, monsieur." "What do you mean?"