"You must know that my greatest desire is to be persuaded of this by you. I know that too often appearances are deceitful; perhaps you will be able to explain to me what took place last evening; I am still inclined to believe your word. Swear to me that you do not love Monsieur de Gerfaut." "I swear it!" said she, in a weak voice, and without raising her eyes. He went to the bed and took down a little silver crucifix which was hanging above it. "Swear it to me upon this crucifix," said he, presenting it to his wife. She tried in vain to raise her hand, which seemed fastened to the arm of her chair. "I swear it!" she stammered a second time, while her face became as pale as death. A savage laugh escaped Christian's lips. He put the crucifix in its place again without saying a word, then he opened the secret panel and, taking out the casket, placed it upon the table before his wife. She made a movement as if to seize it, but her courage failed her. "You have perjured yourself to your husband and to God!" said Bergenheim slowly. "Do you know what kind of woman you are?" Clemence remained for some time powerless to reply; her respiration was so painful that each breath seemed like suffocation; her head, after rolling about on the back of the chair, fell upon her breast, like a blade of grass broken and bruised by the rain. "If you have read those letters," she murmured, when she had strength enough to speak, "you must know that I am not as unworthy as you think. I am very guilty--but I still have a right to be forgiven." Christian, at this moment, had he been gifted with the intelligence which fathoms the mysteries of the heart, might have renewed the bonds which were so near being broken; he could at least have stopped Clemence upon a dangerous path and saved her from a most irreparable fall. But his nature was too unrefined for him to see the degrees which separate weakness from vice, and the intoxication of a loving heart from the depravity of a corrupt character. With the obstinacy of narrow-minded people, he had been looking at the whole thing in its worst light, and for several hours already he had decided upon his wife's guilt in his own mind; this served now as a foundation for his stern conduct. His features remained perfectly impassive as he listened to Clemence's words of justification, which she uttered in a weak, broken voice. "I know that I merit your hatred-but if you could know how much I suffer, you would surely forgive me--You left me in Paris very young, inexperienced; I ought to have fought against this feeling better than I did, but I used up in this struggle all the strength that I had--You can see how pale and changed I have become within the past year. I have aged several years in those few months; I am not yet what you call a--a lost woman. He ought to have told you that--" "Oh, he has! of course he has," replied Christian with bitter irony. "Oh, you have in him a loyal cavalier!"