remains, nothing save the pathway of thorns, grief, and torture. Yes, weep
for me--weep for a lost existence. I was innocent and pure, but I was
poor--that was my misfortune. Poverty drove my father to despair, drove us
both to disgrace and crime. Oh, God! I was so young, and I wanted to live;
I did not wish to die of starvation, and the tempter came to me in my
father's form, whispering, 'Have money and you will have honor! Help
yourself, for men and women will not aid you. They turn contemptuously
away because you are poor. To-morrow, if you are rich, they will pay court
to you, honor, and love you. I offer you the means to become rich. Give me
your hand, Leonore, despise the people who leave us to die, and follow me.'
I gave him my hand, I followed him, I became Napoleon's spy. I had money, I
had a name, I saw people throng around me, I learned to despise them, and
therefore I could betray them. But, in the midst of my brilliant life, I
was unhappy, for the consciousness of my shame constantly haunted me,
constantly cast its shadow upon me. And one day, one day I saw and loved
you! From that day I was the victim of anguish and despair. On my knees I
besought my father to release me, to permit me to escape from the world. He
threatened to betray my past, my disgrace to you. And I--oh, God, I loved
you--I yielded, I remained. My father vowed that, if I made him rich, he
would set me free. I discovered a conspiracy. You were not among the
accomplices--I betrayed it. I wanted to serve _you_ by the treachery and I
plunged you into ruin."

Tears gushed from her eyes; the sobs so long repressed burst forth and
stifled the words on her lips. Kolbielsky no longer wept. He had let his
hands fall from his face, and was listening to her in deep thought, in
breathless suspense. Now, when she paused sobbing, he stretched out his
hand as if he wished to raise Leonore, then he seemed to hesitate and
withdrew it.

She did not see it; she did not venture to look at him; she gazed only into
her tortured heart. "I have betrayed you," she continued, after an
anxious, sorrowful pause. "Oh, when I learned it, a sword pierced my soul
and severed it from every joy of life. I knew, in that hour, that I had
fallen a prey to despair, but I wished at least to rescue you. I have saved
you, that is the sole merit of my life. Napoleon could not resist my
despair, my tears, my wrath--he pitied me. He gave your life to me. All the
blood-money which I