“Do you remember that evening, O Daniel! when, pressing Sarah Brandon
to your heart, you swore to be hers forever? The Countess Ville-Handry
cannot forget it.”
Under the most indifferent words there seemed to palpitate and to
struggle a passion which was but partially restrained, and ever on the
point of breaking forth. Her letters read like the conversations of
timid lovers, who talk about the rain and the weather in a tone of voice
trembling with desire, and with looks burning with passion.
“Could she really be in love with me?” Daniel thought, “and could that
be her punishment?”