“A woman whom you have loved, or whom you love still, at whose feet you
have probably murmured the same words which you whispered at my feet.
How could you think of her in the midst of all your anxieties? She
cannot love you, I am sure. Why did she not come to you when she found
that you were in prison, and falsely accused of an abominable crime?”
Jacques cold bear it no longer.
“Great God!” he cried, “I would a thousand times rather tell you every
thing than allow such a suspicion to remain in your heart! Listen, and
forgive me.”
But she stopped him, putting her hand on his lips, and saying, all in a
tremor,--
“No, I do not wish to know any thing,--nothing at all. I believe in
you. Only you must remember that you are every thing to me,--hope, life,
happiness. If you should have deceived me, I know but too well--poor
me!--that I would not cease loving you; but I should not have long to
suffer.”