“And if I loved you enough to absolve you in my own heart, and defend you in public at the cost of a lie, what would you say to that?”

A point on which I felt no less concern was to know how far I might believe in the love which she declared she had had for me from the very beginning of our acquaintance.  Here she betrayed a little confusion, as if, in her invincible pride, she regretted having revealed a secret she had so jealously guarded.  It was the abbe who undertook to confess for her.  He assured me that at that time he had frequently scolded Edmee for her affection for “the young savage.”  As an objection to this, I told him of the conversation between Edmee and himself which I had overheard one evening in the park.  This I repeated with that great accuracy of memory I possess.  However, he replied: 

“That very evening, if you had followed us a little further under the trees, you might have overheard a dispute that would have completely reassured you, and have explained how, from being repugnant (I may almost say odious) to me, as you then were, you became at first endurable, and gradually very dear.”

“You must tell me,” I exclaimed, “who worked the miracle.”

“One word will explain it,” he answered; “Edmee loved you.  When she had confessed this to me, she covered her face with her hands and remained for a moment as if overwhelmed with shame and vexation; then suddenly she raised her head and exclaimed: 

“’Well, since you wish to know the absolute truth, I love him!  Yes, I love him!  I am smitten with him, as you say.  It is not my fault; why should I blush at it?  I cannot help it; it is the work of fate.  I have never loved M. de la Marche; I merely feel a friendship for him.  For Bernard I have a very different feeling—­a feeling so strong, so varied, so full of unrest, of hatred, of fear, of pity, of anger, of tenderness, that I understand nothing about it, and no longer try to understand anything.’”

“‘Oh, woman, woman!’ I exclaimed, clasping my hands in bewilderment, ’thou art a mystery, an abyss, and he who thinks to know thee is totally mad!’

“‘As many times as you like, abbe,’ she answered, with a firmness in which there were signs of annoyance and confusion, ’it is all the same to me.  On this point I have lectured myself more than you have lectured all your flocks in your whole life.  I know that Bernard is a bear, a badger, as Mademoiselle Leblanc calls him, a savage, a boor, and anything else you like.  There is nothing more shaggy, more prickly, more cunning, more malicious than Bernard.  He is an animal who scarcely knows how to sign his name; he is a coarse brute who thinks he can break me in like one of the jades of Varenne.  But he makes a great mistake; I will die rather than ever be his, unless he becomes civilized enough to marry me.  But one might as well expect a miracle.  I try to improve him, without daring to hope.  However, whether he forces me to kill