At these last words, uttered by M. de Morville in a tone of deep emotion, Madame de Hansfeld raised her head suddenly; her cheeks became deeply tinged, as she replied, with a satirical smile, "This strange confession, sir, is doubtless connected with the secret you are about to reveal to me." "Yes, madame." "I am all attention. "Up to the period of your quitting the adjoining house to ours, I had often met you at the houses of my friends, and I had never made any effort to be presented to you. I found an indefinable charm in the mystery that enshrouded my love. I was utterly unknown to _you_--I who knew you so well--I who had been the unseen spectator of all the emotion and the sorrow you had suffered; and then to talk to you on those trivial and commonplace subjects that form every-day conversation, what pleasure would that have afforded me, after the hours, the days I have passed in silent and deep admiration! But, when your departure deprived me of this pleasure, then I acknowledged the value of those meetings that I had previously disdained, I determined to be introduced to you. You were on intimate terms with Madame de Lormoy, my aunt, who has the highest regard for you. As, in common with the rest of the world, she was ignorant of the strange chance that had linked me to you, I prayed her to present me to you. Unfortunately, the day after she had agreed to comply with my wishes, a revelation was made to me, that instead of seeking, I felt it my duty to avoid your society. Had it not been on account of my mother's health, I should have left Paris, in order to avoid you, and thus furnishing fresh fuel to my unhappy passion; for, know, madame, that if your indifference grieves me, your love would drive me to despair. You seem surprised--you do not understand me. Suppose then--and pardon the folly of the supposition--that you loved me as passionately as I love you, I should be the most miserable of men, for I could not return your affection without inflicting a death-blow on my mother, without trampling under foot the most sacred duty, the most solemn oath, without becoming forsworn and criminal." "Criminal!" exclaimed Madame de Hansfeld, rising from her seat, her features convulsed by fear and grief. This involuntary cry of the princess was, in fact, an avowal that betrayed her affection for De Morville, hitherto so carefully concealed. Had he been really indifferent to Madame de Hansfeld, would she have manifested this despair, this emotion?--No! but she saw an impassable barrier arise between herself and M. de Morville. Had he not said, "_Did you love me, I should be the most miserable of men, for I could not return your affection without becoming perjured, without inflicting a death-blow on my mother?_" De Morville was proverbial for his love of truth and his affection for his mother.