presuming men
that hover about us, there is one who is different--one who believes
in purity, and knows how to respect it in the woman he honours with his
love. I dared to indulge in a sweet dream--even I, Isabelle the actress,
pursued as I am constantly by a gallantry that is odious to me--I dared
to indulge in the too sweet dream of enjoying with you a pure mutual
love. I only asked to be your faithful companion, to cheer and comfort
you in your struggles with an adverse fate until you had reached the
beginning of happiness and prosperity, and then to retire into obscurity
again, when you had plenty of new friends and followers, and no longer
needed me. You see that I was not very exacting."

"Isabelle, my adored Isabelle," cried de Sigognac, "every word that you
speak makes me reproach myself more and more keenly for my fault, and
the pain I have given you. Rest assured, my own darling, that you have
nothing further to fear from me. I am not worthy to kiss the traces of
your footprints in the dust; but yet, I pray you, listen to me! Perhaps
you do not fully understand all my thoughts and intentions, and will
forgive me when you do. I have nothing but my name, which is as pure
and spotless as your sweet self, and I offer it to you, my own beloved
Isabelle, if you will deign to accept it."

He was still kneeling at her feet, and at these ardently spoken words
she leaned towards him, took his upraised face between her hands with a
quick, passionate movement, and kissed him fervently on the lips; then
she sprang to her feet and began, hurriedly and excitedly, pacing back
and forth in the chamber.

"You will be my wife, Isabelle?" cried de Sigognac in agitated tones,
thrilling in every nerve from the sweet contact of her pure, lovely
mouth--fresh as a flower, ardent as a flame.

"Never, never," answered Isabelle, with a clear ring of rapture in her
voice. "I will show myself worthy of such an honour by refusing it.
I did mistake you for a moment, my dearest friend; I did mistake you;
forgive me. Oh! how happy you have made me; what celestial joy fills
my soul! You do respect and esteem me, then, to the utmost? Ah! de
Sigognac, you would really lead me, as your wife, into the hall where
all the portraits of your honoured ancestors would look down upon us?
and into the chapel, where your dead mother lies at rest? I could
meet fearlessly, my beloved, the searching gaze of the dead, from whom
nothing is hidden; the crown