“Miss Roquevillard, listen to me. You must listen. Then you can understand and forgive me. I must speak to you, and speak to-day. I respect your grief. I feel it with you. I have suffered, too, myself, ever since the day.... And my suffering has made me understand others better. I loved you. Oh, don’t stop me! Let me finish. Yes, I loved you. I could not see any future for myself except with you. But I encountered so much opposition at home, so many obstacles, on account--on account of your brother. My mother, who is so good at heart, gives in to every prejudice. My father was set on my career. He is a man of science only. He lives in his office, or rather with his sick people. He’s not the ruler of his house. And I--oh, no, I don’t want to go on accusing other people to excuse my fault. I’ve been a coward, an abominable coward. But I have been well punished for it. I haven’t stood up for you--I haven’t known how to defend you.” She had attempted at several points to interrupt him with a gesture. Erect again and unconsciously disdainful, she looked him in the face. In her action she showed the haughty air that came naturally to the Roquevillards and had won them so many enemies. But it was mitigated by the veiled melancholy in her eyes, and the mystic expression that came to her from her mother. “I have not asked you to defend me,” she replied, simply. “That’s true, Margaret....” He gave up formality in his emotion, speaking to her as he had used to do in the time when they had been betrothed. “I even wanted you to despise me,” he added. “I don’t despise any one, sir.” “You wounded me so, just in looking at me, that day when you gave me back my promise. You have been so hard....” “I, hard?” She pronounced the two words almost in a whisper, deeming all reply useless, inwardly revolted by such injustice. “Yes,” he replied. “I never understood before that it was right to be proud in misfortune. And I cursed you, but my heart was broken. And I accused you, instead of avowing the wretchedness of my doubts and my mean caring for what people thought. I have changed greatly, I swear to you. And now I admire you, I revere you, adore you. Yes. Don’t say anything. Let me finish. I have tried to forget you. My parents would have had me marry some one else, to have me settle down, as they said. I couldn’t. I love only you, and always shall.” “I beg of you, sir.” “What little good I can do, you are the cause of. Little by little I shall raise myself to your level. Men like me, all men, hover between good and evil, between devotion and selfishness. They don’t reflect, they are carried away by all the mediocrity of life. But sometimes one impulse is enough to lift them out of themselves. Your love has given me that impulse, Margaret.” He stopped, waiting for a word of hope. She lowered her eyes, and the veil, which she no longer held back, fell down to her shoulder, throwing a little shadow on one side of her face. He murmured like a prayer: