"Nay, nay," replied D'Aubin, willing as far as possible to use gentle means, and try those powers of persuasion which he believed himself, not unjustly, to possess; "nay, nay, dear Eugenie, you do me wrong altogether; believe me, I do love you sincerely. I know that I have acted foolishly, wrongly towards you; I know that, prompted by vanity, and the gay and roving disposition of youth, flattered and courted, idle, perhaps, conceited, I appeared to neglect and undervalue the jewel that was offered to me in the hand of Eugenie de Menancourt. But, believe me, dear Eugenie, that it was not that I failed to esteem that jewel at its full and highest price; it was but that foolishly I thought it my own beyond all risk. Consider in what school I had been brought up,--consider the lightness and fickleness of all by whom I was surrounded; forgive me the errors and the follies that are past away for ever, and give me an opportunity of proving to you that they are deeply regretted, and will never be renewed. My whole life, my whole thoughts, my whole endeavours, shall be devoted to wipe out the evil impression which a few acts of folly have left upon your mind; and surely the unceasing devotion and tenderness of one who will never forget that he wronged you, and that you forgave him, will be sufficient to atone for errors which proceeded more from idle levity than from evil purpose." "Monsieur d'Aubin," said Eugenie, sadly, "I accuse you of nothing, I blame you for nothing. What might have been my feelings towards you, had your conduct been different towards me, I cannot tell--I cannot even guess: but you greatly deceive yourself if you think that my sentiments towards you originate in anger, or mortified vanity, or wounded pride. I must be candid with you to the very utmost, and tell you that I never felt towards you anything which could enable your conduct to others to inflict one pang upon me. I have never loved you, Monsieur d'Aubin, and the only effect of your behaviour has been to teach me that I never can love you." "You have inflicted upon me that mortifying reiteration, somewhat often," replied D'Aubin; "and perhaps I am not wrong when I ask, whether the want of love towards your promised husband in the past and the present, has not originated in love for another?"