love be a motive for estrangement,
confusion, fear? For what is love, in the sense in which it is held
by your generous heart? Is it not a continual exchange of devotion,
tenderness, esteem, of mutual and blind confidence?--Why, Magdalen!
we may have all this for one another--devotion, tenderness,
confidence--even more than in times past; for, on a thousand occasions,
your secret inspired you with fear and suspicion--while, for the future,
on the contrary, you will see me take such delight in the place I fill
in your good and valiant heart, that you will be happy in the happiness
you bestow. What I have just said may seem very selfish and conceited;
so much the worse! I do not know how to lie."

The longer the smith spoke, the less troubled became Mother Bunch. What
she had above all feared in the discovery of her secret was to see it
received with raillery, contempt, or humiliating compassion; far from
this, joy and happiness were distinctly visible on the manly and
honest face of Agricola. The hunchback knew him incapable of deception;
therefore she exclaimed, this time without shame or confusion, but
rather with a sort of pride.

"Every sincere and pure passion is so far good and con soling as to end
by deserving interest and sympathy, when it has triumphed over its first
excess! It is alike honorable to the heart which feels and that which
inspires it!--Thanks to you, Agricola--thanks to the kind words, which
have raised me in my own esteem--I feel that, instead of blushing, I
ought to be proud of this love. My benefactress is right--you are right:
why should I be ashamed of it? Is it not a true and sacred love? To be
near you, to love you, to tell you so, to prove it by constant devotion,
what did I ever desire more? And yet shame and fear, joined with that
dizziness of the brain which extreme misery produces, drove me to
suicide!--But then some allowance must be made for the suspicions of a
poor creature, who has been the subject of ridicule from her cradle.
So my secret was to die with me, unless some unforeseen accident should
reveal it to you; and, in that case, you are right--sure of myself, sure
of you, I ought to have feared nothing. But I may claim some indulgence;
mistrust, cruel mistrust of one's self makes one doubt others also. Let
us forget all that. Agricola, my generous brother, I will say to you,
as you said to me just now, 'Look at me; you know my countenance cannot
lie. Look at me: see if I shun