"So much the better, count, as far as _you_ are concerned; the worst
news would be good news."

"In that case do not distress yourself, for, not only am I very unhappy,
but, what is more, I see others about me who are happy."

"Really, I do not understand you," replied Raoul; "explain yourself."

"You will soon learn. I have tried, but in vain, to overcome the feeling
you saw dawn in me, increase, and take entire possession of me. I have
summoned all your advice and my own strength to my aid. I have well
weighed the unfortunate affair in which I have embarked; I have sounded
its depths; that it is an abyss, I am aware, but it matters little for
_I_ shall pursue my own course."

"This is madness, De Guiche! you cannot advance another step without
risking your own ruin to-day, perhaps your life to-morrow."

"Whatever may happen, I have done with reflections; listen."

"And you hope to succeed; you believe that Madame will love you?"

"Raoul, I believe nothing; I hope, because hope exists in man, and never
abandons him until death."

"But, admitting that you obtain the happiness you covet, even then, you
are more certainly lost than if you had failed in obtaining it."

"I beseech you, Raoul, not to interrupt me any more; you could never
convince me, for I tell you beforehand, I do not wish to be convinced; I
have gone so far I cannot recede; I have suffered so much, death itself
would be a boon. I no longer love to madness, Raoul, I am being engulfed
by a whirlpool of jealousy."

Raoul struck his hands together with an expression resembling anger.
"Well?" said he.

"Well or ill matters little. This is what I claim from you, my friend,
my almost brother. During the last three days Madame has been living in
a perfect intoxication of gayety. On the first day, I dared not look
at her; I hated her for not being as unhappy as myself. The next day I
could not bear her out of my sight; and she, Raoul--at least I thought
I remarked it--she looked at me, if not with pity, at least with
gentleness. But between her looks and mine, a shadow intervened;
another's smile invited hers. Beside her horse another's always gallops,
which is not mine; in her ear another's caressing voice, not mine,
unceasingly vibrates. Raoul, for three days past my brain has been on
fire; flame, not blood, courses through my veins. That shadow must be
driven away, that smile must be quenched; that voice must be silenced."

"You wish Monsieur's