I met you; I knew you at once by one of those
presentiments which never mislead us; yet I tried to doubt my
recognition, for the more I came to love you, the more the certainty
appalled me. When I saved you from the hands of Hulot, I abjured the
part I had taken; I resolved to betray the slaughterers, and not their
victim. I did wrong to play with men, with their lives, their
principles, with myself, like a thoughtless girl who sees only
sentiments in this life. I believed you loved me; I let myself cling
to the hope that my life might begin anew; but all things have
revealed my past,--even I myself, perhaps, for you must have
distrusted a woman so passionate as you have found me. Alas! is there
no excuse for my love and my deception? My life was like a troubled
sleep; I woke and thought myself a girl; I was in Alencon, where all
my memories were pure and chaste. I had the mad simplicity to think
that love would baptize me into innocence. For a moment I thought
myself pure, for I had never loved. But last night your passion seemed
to me true, and a voice cried to me, 'Do not deceive him.' Monsieur le
marquis," she said, in a guttural voice which haughtily challenged
condemnation, "know this; I am a dishonored creature, unworthy of you.
From this hour I accept my fate as a lost woman. I am weary of playing
a part,--the part of a woman to whom you had brought back the
sanctities of her soul.
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