No, I am not deceived. In her dark eyes I read a genuine interest in me
and in my fortunes. Yes, I feel it; and I may believe my own heart which
tells me—dare I say it?—dare I pronounce the divine words?—that she
loves me!
That she loves me! How the idea exalts me in my own eyes! And, as you
can understand my feelings, I may say to you, how I honour myself since
she loves me!
Is this presumption, or is it a consciousness of the truth? I do not
know a man able to supplant me in the heart of Charlotte; and yet when
she speaks of her betrothed with so much warmth and affection, I feel
like the soldier who has been stripped of his honours and titles, and
deprived of his sword.