In his paternal pride, so far from being alarmed, Pierre Raimond was delighted at this admiration, for he had the blindest confidence in Bertha's principles. And did he not owe his life to Arnold? How could he suppose that this young man, with so noble a heart, ideas so generous, would infamously abuse those relations which gratitude had established between himself and the man whose life he had saved? In Pierre Raimond's eyes that would have been still more infamous than to have dishonoured the daughter of his benefactor. Then, too, Arnold had told him he was one of the people, and, in the exaggeration of his peculiar ideas, Pierre Raimond accorded to him a confidence which he could never have lavished on the Prince de Hansfeld. Bertha, at first attracted towards Arnold by gratitude, had gradually felt the influence of his goodness and attraction. He was frequently present with the old engraver at Bertha's music lessons, was himself an excellent musician, and Bertha often listened to him with as much interest as pleasure when he discoursed, with evident skill, of an art which she adored, referred to the lives of the great composers of Germany, and displayed, as it were, the poetry of their works, whilst he developed their innumerable beauties. How enchanting were the hours thus passed by Bertha, Arnold, and Pierre Raimond! The latter knew nothing of music, but his young friend translated--explained to him, as we may say--the musical thoughts of the great masters, analysing them phrase by phrase, and doing for the works of Mozart, Beethoven, and Gluck, what Hoffman has done so wonderfully for _Don Juan_. Bertha, sensibly touched by Arnold's attentions to Pierre Raimond, attributed to that alone the lively sympathy which every day drew her into closer communion with the prince, who was the more dangerous as he was so utterly unaffected and sincere. Nothing in his language or his manners could startle Madame de Brévannes of the peril she was incurring. Arnold's conduct was one continual avowal, he had no need to say one word of love. If by chance he was alone for a moment with Bertha, his look, his tone were the same as those he maintained in the engraver's presence, and when the latter returned Arnold could always conclude the sentence he had begun. How, then, could Madame de Brévannes mistrust an intimacy so pure, so tranquil? Arnold had never said to her, "I love you!" She had never for a moment believed he could love her, and yet both were already under the irresistible charm of love.