"You have yourself destroyed it. You, whom I thought so frank--you, in the oaths of whom I had confidence--for whom I abandoned my mother and my country," said she, with tears. "You, against whose love I contended, for I was afraid I would not be happy, or rather that you would not be. Alas! I am now sure of this. Your coldness, your indifference, your abandonment, tell me so more distinctly than your tongue could. Yet I had rather you should say so, for there would at least be boldness in the confession, while meanness is the element of dissimulation." The head of the poor young woman fell on her shoulder, and she shed bitter tears. "Aminta," said Henri, as he drew near and sought to take her hand, "I swear that I have not deceived you." Aminta looked towards him with a countenance lighted up with joy, but a frightful thought, the recollection of the letter, pierced her heart like an arrow. "He deceives me," said she, and she felt herself blush for the man who did not blush himself, though he was committing perjury. The door of the room was then opened, and the Prince de Maulear entered. He was pale and agitated, though he had a smile on his lips. The smile, however, was cold and evidently studied. "You are about to go out, Marquis," said he, pointing to the hat which the latter had in his hand, without appearing to remark either the trouble of Henri or the tears of Aminta. "Excuse me, Monsieur, but I have an important appointment." "I am sorry for your appointment," said the Prince, "but you must break it." "I cannot," muttered Henri. "I hope you will," said the Prince, but his manner implied, "you must." "Very well, sir," said the Marquis, putting down his hat and gloves, with marked ill humor, "I obey you." The Prince paid no further attention to him, but placed a chair near Aminta, sat beside her, and pointing out a chair to the Marquis, bade him do so also. "We thought you unwell," said the Marquise to her father-in-law, making an effort to restrain herself. "We are glad to see it is not the case."