"M. le Comte," replied the man, "the lady whom you accuse is, believe me, far from having the hard, insensible heart you think; she has seen you, and understood what you suffer, and feels for you the warmest sympathy." "Oh! compassion, compassion!" cried the young man; "but may that heart of which you boast some day know love--love such as I feel, and may they offer her compassion in exchange; I shall be well avenged." "M. le Comte, not to reply to love is no reason for never having loved. This woman has perhaps felt the passion more than ever you will--has perhaps loved as you can never love." "When one loves like that, one loves forever," cried Henri, raising his eyes to heaven. "Did I tell you that she loved no more?" Henri uttered a doleful cry. "She loves!" cried he. "Ah! mon Dieu!" "Yes, she loves; but be not jealous of the man she loves, M. le Comte, for he is no more of this world. My mistress is a widow." These words restored hope and life to the young man. "Oh!" cried he, "she is a widow, and recently; the source of her tears will dry up in time. She is a widow, then she loves no one, or only a shadow--a name. Ah! she will love me. Oh! mon Dieu, all great griefs are calmed by time. When the widow of Mausole, who had sworn an eternal grief at her husband's tomb, had exhausted her tears, she was cured. Regrets are a malady, from which every one who survives comes out as strong as before." The servant shook his head. "This lady, M. le Comte, has also sworn eternal fidelity to death; but I know her, and she will keep her word better than the forgetful woman of whom you speak." "I will wait ten years, if necessary; since she lives, I may hope." "Oh! young man, do not reckon thus. She has lived, you say; yes, so she has, not a month, or a year, but seven years. You hope that she will console herself; never, M. le Comte, never. I swear it to you--I, who was but the servant of him who is dead, and yet I shall never be consoled." "This man so much regretted, this husband--" "It was not her husband, it was her lover, M. le Comte, and a woman like her whom you unluckily love has but one lover in her life." "My friend," cried Joyeuse, "intercede for me." "I! Listen, M. le Comte. Had I believed you capable of using violence toward my mistress, I would have killed you long ago with my own hand. If, on the contrary, I could have believed that she would love you, I think I should have killed her. Now, M. le Comte, I have said what I wished to say; do not seek to make me say more, for, on my honor--and although not a nobleman, my honor is worth something--I have told you all I can." Henri rose. "I thank you," said he, "for having had compassion on my misfortunes; now I have decided." "Then you will be calmer for the future. M. le Comte, you will go away, and leave us to ourselves?" "Yes, be easy; I will go away, and forever." "You mean to die?" "Why not? I cannot live without her."