"Worthy and noble-minded young man!" rejoined Rodolph, with deep emotion. "But calm yourself, my good girl. Thank God, Germain is still living! And, by anticipating the perusal of his last wishes, you will at least have learned how sincerely he loved you,--nay, still loves you!" "And only to think," said Rigolette, drying up her tears, "that I should never once have suspected it! When first I knew M. Girandeau and M. Cabrion, they were always talking to me of their violent love, and flames, and darts, and such stuff; but finding I took no notice of them, they left off wearying me with such nonsense. Now, on the contrary, Germain never named love to me. When I proposed to him that we should be good friends, he accepted the offer as frankly as it was made, and ever after that we were always excellent companions and neighbours; but--now I don't mind telling you, M. Rodolph, that I was not sorry Germain never talked to me in the same silly strain." "But still it astonished you, did it not?" "Why, M. Rodolph, I ascribed it to his melancholy, and I fancied his low spirits prevented his joking like the others." "And you felt angry with him, did you not, for always being so sad?" "No," said the grisette, ingenuously; "no, I excused him, because it was the only fault he had. But now that I have read his kind and feeling letter, I cannot forgive myself for ever having blamed him even for that one thing." "In the first place," said Rodolph, smiling, "you find that he had many and just causes for his sadness; and secondly, that, spite of his melancholy, he did love you deeply and sincerely." "To be sure; and it seems a thing to be proud of, to be loved by so excellent a young man!" "Whose love you will, no doubt, return one of these days?"