"But, great as it is, I have made the sacrifice. I have bowed to the stern commands which bid me hope no more; and it is to my true, faithful, and sincere friend I now address myself!" So perfect was the dissimulation with which M. de Brévannes covered his guilty designs, and so natural and affecting was the tone of his voice while speaking, that a tear of regret filled the eye of Bertha, while a full confession of her own disingenuousness trembled on her lips. "And be assured," said she at length, "that your _friend_ will study henceforward to deserve that title, and to be worthy of----" "Enough, enough!" said M. de Brévannes, hastily interrupting Bertha. "I know your exceeding goodness, and that your delicate mind is ever sensitively alive to the wishes and happiness of others. Permit me, however, to finish what I was about to say. As there are two ways of loving a wife, so are there two distinct modes of entertaining jealousy." "Now, indeed, I am at a loss to comprehend you!" "I fear, indeed, you experience some difficulty on this head, more especially after some expressions I made use of yesterday, and which you may probably have wrongly interpreted." "What can you mean?" "Oh, it is more than likely for you to have done so. Unfortunately our discussion of yesterday assumed so high a tone that all things wore an air of exaggeration. When I spoke of the many shades of difference which existed between jealousy, love, and self-love, I merely meant to say that the species of jealousy felt for one towards whom our sentiments are but those of friendship is widely dissimilar to that raging torrent which sweeps all before it at the bare idea of being superseded in the affections of a wife who possesses our _love_. In the first instance the heart alone suffers; in the second, a whirlwind of mighty passions tears our very vitals, our brain totters beneath the agonising dread of losing the beloved object, and, unfortunately, wounded pride shuts out from the jealous man the many attempts of awakened tenderness to calm and heal the smarting of his wounds. Do you understand me?" "But----" "I see you do not. Well, then, I will speak to you more plainly still. I only fear not being able distinctly to state my sentiments, and probably shocking you by their imperfect display." "Speak on, and fear nothing!" "Then listen to me. You have long ceased to excite in my breast any feelings beyond those of friendship. Still, at two-and-twenty you may well fear the temptations you mentioned yesterday, and, alas! no one is more exposed to them than yourself, for with shame and sorrow I confess that my conduct towards you, if it be not capable of authorising, is at least perfectly calculated to extenuate, your faults." "Can you for an instant suppose----"