Proud and
noble souls are prompt to recognize the delicacy with which they are
treated. Tact is to sentiments what grace is to the body. Marie
appreciated the grandeur of the man who bowed before a woman in fault,
that he might not see her blush. She ran from the room like one beside
herself, but instantly returned, fearing lest her hasty action might
cause him uneasiness.
"Wait," she said, and disappeared again.
Felix had ably prepared her excuse, and he was instantly rewarded for
his generosity. His wife returned with Nathan's letters in her hand,
and gave them to him.
"Judge me," she said, kneeling down beside him.
"Are we able to judge where we love?" he answered, throwing the
letters into the fire; for he felt that later his wife might not
forgive him for having read them. Marie, with her head upon his knee,
burst into tears.
"My child," he said, raising her head, "where are your letters?"
At this question the poor woman no longer felt the intolerable burning
of her cheeks; she turned cold.
"That you may not suspect me of calumniating a man whom you think
worthy of you, I will make Florine herself return you those letters."
"Oh! Surely he would give them back to me himself."
"Suppose that he refused to do so?"
The countess dropped her head.
"The world disgusts me," she said. "I don't want to enter it again. I
want to live alone with you, if you forgive me.
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