"You are unjust to me," she replied, with peevish excitement, "unjust and unkind. Why should I--_I,_ desire your absence? You never did me any harm; on the contrary, I have ever found you ready to defend me; this very day you did not hesitate to protect me from the ill-treatment of the wretches who insulted me." "Ah! You allow it?" "Why should I not allow it, since it is true? Do you consider me ungrateful, then?" "No, Carmela, you are only a woman," he replied, bitterly. "I do not understand your meaning, and do not wish to do so; I alone here defend you, when my father, or Quoniam, or anyone else accuses you. Is it my fault, if, owing to your character, and the mysterious life you lead, you are placed beyond the pale of ordinary existence? Am I responsible for the silence you insist on maintaining on all that concerns you personally? You know my father; you know how kind, frank, and worthy he is; many times he has tried, by circuitous ways, to lead you to an honourable explanation--but you have always repulsed his advances. You must, therefore, only blame yourself for the general isolation in which you are left, and the solitude formed around you; and do not address reproaches to the only person who, up to the present, has dared to support you against all." "It is true," he answered, bitterly; "I am a madman. I acknowledge my wrongs towards you, Carmela, for you say truly; in all this world, you alone have been constantly kind and compassionate for the reprobate--for the man whom the general hatred pursues." "Hatred as foolish as it is unjust." "And which you do not share in--is it not?" he exclaimed, sharply. "No, I do not share it; still, I suffer from your obstinacy; for, in spite of all that is said of you, I believe you to be honourable." "Thank you, Carmela; I wish I had it in my power to prove immediately that you are right, and give a denial to those who insult me like cowards behind my back, and tremble when I stand before them. Unfortunately, that is impossible for the present; but the day will come, I hope, when it will be permitted me to make myself known as what I really am, and throw off the mask that stifles me; and then--" "Then?" she repeated, seeing that he hesitated. Again he hesitated. "Then," he said, in a choking voice, "I shall have a question to ask you, and a request to make." The maiden blushed, but recovered herself directly. "You will find me ready to answer both," she murmured, in a low and inarticulate voice. "Do you mean it?" he asked, joyfully. "I swear it to you." A flash of happiness lit up the young man's face like a sunbeam. "My good Carmela," he said, in a deep voice, "when the moment arrives, I shall remind you of your promise." She bowed her head in dumb assent.