quet, who had
risen from his seat at the same moment as Madame de Belliere, remained
for a moment plunged in thought; then suddenly starting back, he turned
pale, and sank down in his chair, concealing his face in his hands.
"Madame, madame," he murmured, "what opinion can you have of me, when
you make me such an offer?"

"Of you!" returned the marquise. "Tell me, rather, what you yourself
think of the step I have taken."

"You bring me this money for myself, and you bring it because you know
me to be embarrassed. Nay, do not deny it, for I am sure of it. Can I
not read your heart?"

"If you know my heart, then, can you not see that it is my heart I offer
you?"

"I have guessed rightly, then," exclaimed Fouquet. "In truth, madame, I
have never yet given you the right to insult me in this manner."

"Insult you," she said, turning pale, "what singular delicacy of
feeling! You tell me you love me; in the name of that affection you wish
me to sacrifice my reputation and my honor, yet, when I offer you money
which is my own, you refuse me."

"Madame, you are at liberty to preserve what you term your reputation
and your honor. Permit me to preserve mine. Leave me to my ruin, leave
me to sink beneath the weight of the hatreds which surround me, beneath
the faults I have committed, beneath the load, even, of my remorse,
but, for Heaven's sake, madame, do not overwhelm me with this last
infliction."

"A short time since, M. Fouquet, you were wanting in judgment; now you
are wanting in feeling."

Fouquet pressed his clenched hand upon his breast, heaving with emotion,
saying: "overwhelm me, madame, for I have nothing to reply."

"I offered you my friendship, M. Fouquet."

"Yes, madame, and you limited yourself to that."

"And what I am now doing is the act of a friend."

"No doubt it is."

"And you reject this mark of my friendship?"

"I do reject it."

"Monsieur Fouquet, look at me," said the marquise, with glistening eyes,
"I now offer you my love."

"Oh, madame," exclaimed Fouquet.

"I have loved you for a long while past; women, like men, have a false
delicacy at times. For a long time past I have loved you, but would not
confess it. Well, then, you have implored this love on your knees, and I
have refused you; I was blind, as you were a little while since; but as
it was my love that you sought, it is my love I now offer you."

"Oh! madame, you overwhelm me beneath a load of happiness."

"Will you be