rry a stiletto, I can manage with a strong hand this
inestimable jewel, whose tooth is sharper than a viper's; and you know,
too, that, from the day in which I have to complain of you, I will quit
this roof for ever, leaving you a thousand times more enamoured than
ever,--since you have so greatly honoured your unworthy servant as to
say that you are enamoured of her."

"My servant? It is I who am your slave,--your mocked, derided, despised
slave!"

"That's true enough."

"And yet it does not move you?"

"It amuses me; the days, and especially the nights, are so long!"

"Accursed creature!"

"But, seriously, you look so perfectly wretched, your features have so
sensibly altered, that I am quite flattered at it. It is a poor triumph,
but you are the only one here."

"To hear that, and me consume in impotent rage!"

"Have you really any understanding? Why, I never said anything more
tender."

"Jeer at me,--jeer at me!"

"I do not jeer. I never before saw a man of your age in love after your
fashion; and, I must confess, a young and handsome man would be
incapable of these outrageous passions. An Adonis admires himself as
much as he admires us; he likes us, and we choose to notice
him,--nothing more simple. He has a claim to our love, but is hardly
grateful; but to show favour to a man like you, my master dear, would be
to take him from earth to heaven, to fulfil his wildest dreams, his most
insensate hopes. For if some being were to say to you, 'You love Cecily
to distraction, if I chose she should be yours next minute,' you would
suppose such a being endued with supernatural power, shouldn't you,
master dear?"

"Yes! Ah, yes!"

"Well, if you could convince me more satisfactorily of your passion, I
might, perchance, have the whimsical fancy to enact this supernatural
part myself in your favour. Do you comprehend?"

"I comprehend that you are still fooling me,--that you are still
pitiless."

"Perhaps,--for solitude creates so many singular fancies."

Until this moment Cecily's accent had been sarcastic, but she pronounced
these last words with a serious, reflecting tone, and accompanied them
with a look which made the notary start.

"Silence! Do not look at me thus,--you will drive me mad! I would rather
you denied me,--at least, I could then hate you,--drive you from my
house!" cried Jacques Ferrand, who again gave himself up to a vain hope.
"Yes, for I should then hope nothing from you. But, misery!