As he spoke, Odette sat up, listening, full of pity for his sorrow and suffering. He was right. He deserved something more than the careless reply she usually made. She looked at him with inexpressible tenderness, her dark eyes moist with tears. "You love me. I believe you sincerely. You are wounded, and I am very sorry. Forgive me for being the cause of your suffering. I assure you that I never dreamed of anything like this; otherwise, I should not have allowed you to cherish a love that I could never return. I beg your pardon for the grief I have caused you; but I can never be your wife, because I do not love you." At these words, Paul felt his strength leaving him. He sank into a chair, and, burying his face in his hands, he wept. This proud, strong man wept in his despair like a little child. Tears were falling from Odette's eyes as she sought to take his hand. He pushed her away. Raising his head, he said with the composure of utter hopelessness: "Forgive me. I have not shed tears for many years. You do not love me. I shall die. With me, my heart is my life, and I know death will soon relieve me from my suffering. I endured agonies when my mother married a second time, four years ago. I left her. I became nearly insane with jealous grief. I hated my step-father until an hour ago; but he then removed the obstacles to my confession of love to you. I forgot everything in my gratitude, because my love for you is stronger than my love for my mother; and, now, you escape from me. You see that I can not help dying of grief." Odette's heart was bleeding at his supreme despair. Suddenly she raised her head, with a gesture of sudden resolution. "Dear friend," she said, "I will make you a confession. It wounds me to the soul to make it; but you must be cured of your unfortunate passion, and the only way is to show that I am unworthy of it." She was shuddering and pale. "I do not marry you, because I can not. If I had only known this before! You are too late. I have loved another, insanely, passionately as you love me. For a whole month I lived on his words, his glances; and, if he had opened his arms, I should have fallen into them." Odette stood before him, red with shame, yet proudly laying bare her heart to cure her friend, at the expense of untold suffering to herself. She continued: "The very words he let fall were of inspired eloquence. He had all combined that could fascinate a woman; fame, genius, and beauty. My punishment for having given my heart unsought is, that now I can not love you--for, I might have loved you. I now lose you forever; but I have at least cured you of loving one so unworthy."