im!"

"And if I did," she answered, putting the letter in her pocket, "where
would be the crime?"

"The crime would be that hitherto you have lied in telling me that you
did not love him."

"Hitherto is saying a good deal," she rejoined, looking at me fixedly;
"we have not discussed the matter since last year. At that time it was
possible that I did not love Adhemar very much, and at present it might
be possible that I loved him more than you. If I compare the conduct of
both to-day I see on the one hand a man without proper pride and without
delicacy, presuming upon a promise which my heart perhaps has never
ratified; on the other I see an admirable friend whose sublime devotion
is ready to brave all prejudices; who--believing that I bear the smirch
of an indelible shame--is none the less prepared to cover the blot with
his protection."

"What! this wretch believes that I have done violence to you, and yet
does not challenge me to a duel?"

"That is not what he believes, Bernard. He knows that you rescued me
from Roche-Mauprat; but he thinks that you helped me too late, and that
I was the victim of the other brigands."

"And he wants to marry you, Edmee? Either the man's devotion is sublime,
as you say, or he is deeper in debt than you think."

"How dare you say that?" said Edmee angrily. "Such an odious explanation
of generous conduct can proceed only from an unfeeling soul or a
perverse mind. Be silent, unless you wish me to hate you."

"Say that you hate me, Edmee; say so without fear; I know it."

"Without fear! You should know likewise that I have not yet done you the
honour to fear you. However, tell me this: without inquiring into what
I intend to do, can you understand that you ought to give me my liberty,
and abandon your barbarous rights?"

"I understand nothing except that I love you madly, and that these nails
of mine shall tear out the heart of any man who tries to win you from
me. I know that I shall force you to love me, and that, if I do not
succeed, I will at any rate not let you belong to another while I am
alive. The man will have to walk over my body riddled with wounds
and bleeding from every pore, ere he can put the wedding-ring on your
finger; with my last breath, too, I will dishonour you by proclaiming
that you are my mistress, and thus cloud the joy of any man who may
triumph over me; and if I can stab you as I die, I will, so that in the
tomb, at least, you may be my wife. That is