“Vengeance, my dearest?  On whom do you wish to take vengeance?”

“On him who stole my native land; who deluded us for years with false hopes, with lying promises; who promised us liberty and in return gave us bondage.  I seek to avenge my country on Napoleon—­”

“Hush! for God’s sake, hush!” she cried, trembling violently, as she pressed her hand upon his lips.  “Do not utter such words; do not venture even to think them; for even thoughts bring danger, and speech will bring you death.”

“Ah,” he cried, laughing, “does my proud, royal Leonore fear?  Does she fear in her own house, in her boudoir, where love alone can hear?”

“And hate,” she said anxiously.  “For you say that not only love, but hate, dwells in your heart.”

“But not in yours, Leonore.  No, in your heart dwells only love, and I will trust it.  Yes, you beautiful, glorious woman, I will give you a proof of my infinite love and confidence.  You shall know my secrets and I will tell you what I have yet betrayed to no woman on earth.”

“No, no,” she cried vehemently; “no, I will hear nothing.  I do not wish to know your secrets; for I might reveal them in my sleep.  They might fill my soul with such anguish and terror, that they would occupy it even in slumber, and I might tell in my dreams what I certainly would not disclose in waking, though I were exposed to the tortures of the rack.  Oh, love, I fear your secrets, and I fear that they threaten you with peril!  Give them up.  If my love has any power over you, I entreat you:  renounce them.  Resign all your plans of hate and vengeance!  Cast thoughts of anger from you!  You have lived and labored for your native land long enough.  Now, my love, dismiss hatred from your heart, and yield it to love!  Renounce vengeance and allow yourself happiness!  You say that you love me—­give me a proof of it, a divine, beautiful proof!  Let us fly, my beloved one, fly from this world of falsehood, treachery, hate, and anger, to conceal ourselves in a quiet corner of the earth, where no one knows us, where the noise of the world does not penetrate, where we shall learn nothing more of its dissensions and wars, where only love and peace will dwell with us; where, clasped in each other’s embrace, we can rest on Nature’s bosom and receive from her healing for all our wounds, comfort for all our losses.  Oh, let us fly, for I know well that, so long as you are here—­here in this world of strife and intrigue—­you will not be mine; you cannot wrench yourself away from the numerous relations which hold and bind you, draw you into their perilous circle.  Give them up.  Let us rend these bonds which fetter you and will drag you to destruction.  Let us go to America; far, far away to some quiet, unknown valley, where there are no human beings, and therefore there will be no falsehood and no treachery, no battles and strife.  There let us dwell in the divine peace of creation; live as Adam and Eve lived in Paradise, quietly and at rest in the precincts of pure human happiness.”