After
enduring the needless torture of these doubts of which I am
accusing myself, every added day of love, yes, every single day,
will be a whole lifetime of bliss. So speak, and speak openly; do
not deceive me, it would be a crime. Tell me, do you wish for your
liberty? Have you thought of all that a man's life means? Is there
any regret in your mind? That /I/ should cause you a regret! I
should die of it. I have said it: I love you enough to set your
happiness above mine, your life before my own. Leave on one side,
if you can, the wealth of memories of our nine years' happiness,
that they may not influence your decision, but speak! I submit
myself to you as to God, the one Consoler who remains if you
forsake me."
When Mme. de Beauseant knew that her letter was in M. de Nueil's
hands, she sank in such utter prostration, the over-pressure of many
thoughts so numbed her faculties, that she seemed almost drowsy. At
any rate, she was suffering from a pain not always proportioned in its
intensity to a woman's strength; pain which women alone know. And
while the unhappy Marquise awaited her doom, M. de Nueil, reading her
letter, felt that he was "in a very difficult position," to use the
expression that young men apply to a crisis of this kind.
By this time he had all but yielded to his mother's importunities and
to the attractions of Mlle.
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