“This letter,” continued the Marquise, “was of a character very unusual
at the time it was written, and seemed to me, notwithstanding some
passages of theatrical declamation at the beginning, so powerful, so
true, so full of only bold passion, that I was overwhelmed by it. The
pride which still struggled within me faded away. I would have given
all the remaining days I had to live one hour of such love.
“I answered in these words, as nearly as I can remember:
“‘I do not accuse you, Lelio; I accuse destiny. I do not pity you
alone; I pity myself also. Neither pride nor prudence shall make me
deny you the consolation of believing that I have felt a preference
for you. Keep it, for it is the only one I can offer you. I can never
consent to see you.’
“Next day I received a note which I hastily read and threw into the
fire, to prevent Larrieux from seeing it, for he came suddenly upon me
while I was reading it. It read thus:
“‘MADAME--I must see you or I must die. Once--once
only, but for a single hour, if such is your will. Why should
you fear an interview since you trust my honor and my prudence.
Madame, I know who you are; I am well aware of your piety and
of the austerity of your life. I am not fool enough to hope
for anything but a word of compassion, but it must fall from
your own lips. My heart must receive it and bear it away, or my
heart must break.