She drew herself up mighty proudly, and for one instant there was a smile as of disdain upon her lips, the next she saith slowly-- “Alas, my poor friend! I fear that you have deceived yourself very grievously. It is now three years that I am betrothed to my father’s cousin, the Viscount Eugene de Galampré.” “Madam!” I cried, too heavily stricken at first to say more, but presently recovering myself a little, “perchance my lord marquis hath it in his mind to break off the match.” “Not with my consent!” she cried quickly, and I saw all my folly. I knew that the lady that I worshipped loved me not a whit, for that all her heart was given to this Frenchman. All those signs of love, which I, in my blind foolishness, had interpreted for myself, were caused by the thought of him! I bowed my head on the railing with a groan, feeling verily that now I had lost all. “Hush, sir!” cried Madam Heliodora; “will you ruin yourself and me both? Dry these unmanly tears, and tell me, what have you ever seen in Heliodore de Tourvel that should make you think that she would consent to be used as a bribe to repay a dishonourable action?” “Alas, madam!” I cried, “you see me humbled to the very dust at your feet. Sure death is the only remedy for misery so great as mine.” “Rise, sir,” says she angrily, “and let me hear no more of such heathen foolishness. Are you prepared for death, you that have meditated such treason not only against your employers, but also against that unhappy lady in England, your cousin?” I obeyed her, ashamed that I should deserve and receive such rebuke from a Papist, and at that same moment there come back to my mind that wise saying of Dr Thomas Browne, to the effect that _Suicide is not so much to fear death as to be afraid of life. When to live is more terrible than death, then is it the truest valour to dare to live_; but I groaned again to remember how often my cousin Dorothy and I had read those words together, and also to think how much more terrible life would now be to me than death, though surely this should not have been so, seeing I was assured of my lady’s continued happiness. “Sir,” says Madam Heliodora, “you have yet much to live for. Humble yourself to your employers, as I have already recommended to you, and then, if your cousin be still willing to espouse you, make to her the best amends in your power for your faithlessness.” “Madam,” I replied, “I will obey you so far as in me lies; but this thing I can’t do. The man that hath once lived in the hope (vain and foolish though it were), to be beloved by you, can never bend his thoughts towards any other. Were Mrs Dorothy Brandon possessed of every perfection under heaven, I could not bring myself to wed her--yea, though she herself besought me on her bended knees.”