She
would not see in me - as did her mother - no more than a type of
the best class in France, and having no more than the vices of my
order. As a monster of profligacy might she behold me, and that
--ah, Dieu! - I could not endure that she should do whilst I
was by.
It may be - indeed, now, as I look back, I know that I exaggerated
my case. I imagined she would see it as I saw it then. For would
you credit it? With this great love that was now come to me, it
seemed the ideals of my boyhood were returned, and I abhorred the
man that I had been. The life I had led now filled me with disgust
and loathing; the notions I had formed seemed to me now all vicious
and distorted, my cynicism shallow and unjust.
"Monsieur de Lesperon," she called softly to me, noting my silence.
I turned to her. I set my hand lightly upon her arm; I let my gaze
encounter the upward glance of her eyes - blue as forget-me-nots.
"You suffer!" she murmured, with sweet compassion.
"Worse, Roxalanne! I have sown in your heart too the seed of
suffering. Oh, I am too unworthy!" I cried out; "and when you come
to discover how unworthy it will hurt you; it will sting your pride
to think how kind you were to me." She smiled incredulously, in
denial of my words. "No, child; I cannot tell you."
She sighed, and then before more could be said there was a sound
at the door, and we started away from each other. The Vicomte
entered, and my last chance of confessing, of perhaps averting
much of what followed, was lost to me.
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