On seeing that dear face, worn and haggard with grief, Camors forgot the neat phrases he had prepared for his entrance.  He forgot all except that he really adored her.

He advanced hastily toward her, seized in his two hands those of the young woman and, without speaking, interrogated her eyes with tenderness and profound pity.

“It is nothing,” she said, withdrawing her hand and bending her pale face gently; “I am better; I may even be very happy, if you wish it.”

There was in the smile, the look, and the accent of Madame de Tecle something indefinable, which froze the blood of Camors.

He felt confusedly that she loved him, and yet was lost to him; that he had before him a species of being he did not understand, and that this woman, saddened, broken, and lost by love, yet loved something else in this world better even than that love.

She made him a slight sign, which he obeyed like a child, and he sat down beside her.

“Monsieur,” she said to him, in a voice tremulous at first, but which grew stronger as she proceeded, “I heard you last night perhaps with a little too much patience.  I shall now, in return, ask from you the same kindness.  You have told me that you love me, Monsieur; and I avow frankly that I entertain a lively affection for you.  Such being the case, we must either separate forever, or unite ourselves by the only tie worthy of us both.  To part:—­that will afflict me much, and I also believe it would occasion much grief to you.  To unite ourselves:—­for my own part, Monsieur, I should be willing to give you my life; but I can not do it, I can not wed you without manifest folly.  You are younger than I; and as good and generous as I believe you to be, simple reason tells me that by so doing I should bring bitter repentance on myself.  But there is yet another reason.  I do not belong to myself, I belong to my daughter, to my family, to my past.  In giving up my name for yours I should wound, I should cruelly afflict, all the friends who surround me, and, I believe, some who exist no longer.  Well, Monsieur,” she continued, with a smile of celestial grace and resignation, “I have discovered a way by which we yet can avoid breaking off an intimacy so sweet to both of us—­in fact, to make it closer and more dear.  My proposal may surprise you, but have the kindness to think over it, and do not say no, at once.”

She glanced at him, and was terrified at the pallor which overspread his face.  She gently took his hand, and said: 

“Have patience!”

“Speak on!” he muttered, hoarsely.

“Monsieur,” she continued, with her smile of angelic charity, “God be praised, you are quite young; in our society men situated as you are do not marry early, and I think they are right.  Well, then, this is what I wish to do, if you will allow me to tell you.  I wish to blend in one affection the two strongest sentiments of my heart!  I wish to concentrate all my care, all my tenderness,