"My Thérèse, you who are so good a Christian should not impugn the justice of God. Have you not suffered sufficiently to appease Him? Have you not even the right to breathe? Do you experience no emotion now that your husband is at your side? Were the reasons of state which prescribed our marriage not in accord with your sentiment? Would you choose me again if you were free? Can you not love?" She blushed to hear these extraordinary words. His transformation was wonderful and seemed to be changing her, the austere Duchess, into a girl of twenty. "Louis," she answered with noble simplicity, "since the death of my parents, I have loved only you. I fear at times that God will punish this excessive devotion to a creature." "Cousin, wife," he ardently exclaimed, "'tis God's will that we love each other. You know well that tho at times I seem absorbed and cold, I am never even in thought unfaithful. Have you any complaint, any accusation?" "I have believed," she replied, "that you did not love me. But I have never doubted you. That would have been unendurable." He clasped her to his breast. "Since you are so well convinced of my love," he whispered, "you will grant a request, you will permit me to influence that upright conscience, that noble heart." She drew herself away instinctively, but he clasped her more closely, and she remained a happy prisoner. "My wife," he pursued, "you are under the domination of a great sorrow. This morning you were almost hysterical. I suffered in seeing you so troubled. Now, we must be absolutely frank with one another. I fear for your reason if you continue to torment yourself about an ambitious fool. Listen to me and listen tranquilly. Your clear intelligence has become temporarily clouded. Your mind will soon recover its lucidity. You are now of the opinion that the man is being victimized, whereas he is nothing more than a keen-witted impostor, bolder and armed with more formidable documents than his predecessors." "Do you really believe that the writer of this letter is an impostor?" "Well: not precisely an impostor, Thérèse,--a dupe, rather, believing himself to be the prince. 'Tis a frequent phenomenon. Our reason is subject to such fluctuations that one is capable of confusing even his own individuality with that of another. You doubtless remember the case of the Spanish pie-vender who believed himself King Sebastian; or Pougatchef of Russia who under the name of Demetrius claimed the throne." "What of the documents mentioned in the letter which he maintains would confirm his claim before any French tribunal?"