"Ten days ago it is. Think of it - no more than ten days. And it
seems as if I had been months at Lavedan, so well have we become
acquainted. In these ten days we have formed opinions of each other.
But with this difference, that whilst mine are right, yours are
wrong. I have come to know you for the sweetest, gentlest saint in
all this world. Would to God I had known you earlier! It might
have been very different; I might have been - I would have been -
different, and I would not have done what I have done. You have
come to know me for an unfortunate but honest gentleman. Such am
I not. I am under false colours here, mademoiselle. Unfortunate
I may be - at least, of late I seem to have become so. Honest I
am not - I have not been. There, child, I can tell you no more. I
am too great a coward. But when later you shall come to hear the
truth - when, after I am gone, they may tell you a strange story
touching this fellow Lesperon who sought the hospitality of your
father's house - bethink you of my restraint in this hour; bethink
you of my departure. You will understand these things perhaps
afterwards. But bethink you of them, and you will unriddle them for
yourself, perhaps. Be merciful upon me then; judge me not
over-harshly."
I paused, and for a moment we were silent. Then suddenly she looked
up; her fingers tightened upon mine.
"Monsieur de Lesperon," she pleaded, "of what do speak? You are
torturing me, monsieur.
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