"Only remember I have done all in my power to resist your commands; I have conjured you, supplicated you, to allow me to live in retirement, and it was you--you who would take me from it, in order to throw me into the whirlpool of the world," said Bertha, growing animated as she spoke,--"of the world, in which I have neither support nor counsel, where I shall be exposed to all the dangers which beset a young and absolutely isolated woman." "Isolated!--but I, madame?" "Hear me, sir! I am scarcely twenty-two years of age, you have weighed me down with unkindness and neglect,--I love you no longer; I am resolutely determined never to forget my duties, but, although perfectly confident in myself, there are certain perils to which I do not wish to expose myself." This time Bertha had struck true by vaguely arousing the savage jealousy of De Brévannes, and she hoped thus to make him reflect upon the results of throwing a young woman, without love for or confidence in her husband, into the midst of the dissipations of society. De Brévannes was really amazed at this new language, and looked at Bertha with irritation mingled with surprise. "What do you say, madame?" he exclaimed. "Do you wish to make me understand that you are capable of such indignity as to forget what I have done for you? Take care, madame, take care; do not sport with such ideas, they are too serious; reflect well that self-love is a thousand times more irritable and more ardent for vengeance than love itself. If ever you had but the thought of wronging me----But no," he said, turning livid with the bare idea, "do not let us even mention such an idea--it is too serious." "And it is because a serious day may arrive, sir, that I do suggest the idea; and as a virtuous woman, I entreat you to leave me in my retirement, and not voluntarily expose me to perils which, perhaps, I may not have the strength to resist. I owe you much, no doubt, but believe me, do not compel me also to calculate the tears I have shed, for then I could believe the debt acquitted." "What audacity!" "I would rather be audacious before I had done wrong, than hypocritical afterwards. Once more, for the sake of your repose as well as mine, I entreat you to leave me in my obscure anti unknown existence. Then I can promise you that I shall never fail in my duty; otherwise----" "Otherwise?" "You will cast me almost defenceless into the midst of the perils of the world. I know my duties, and shall endeavour to struggle; but I tell you, circumstances might occur when my powers would fail me." The good sense, the frankness of this language, made De Brévannes' jealous blood boil again in his veins; he knew too well his wrongs to Bertha, not to see that she struggled solely and absolutely from duty. Yet duty without affection is often powerless against the incitements of passion.