Virtue is a burden to me. I should despise you
if you were weak enough to marry me. The Comte de Bauvan might commit
that folly, but you--you must be worthy of your future and leave me
without regret. A courtesan is too exacting; I should not love you
like the simple, artless girl who felt for a moment the delightful
hope of being your companion, of making you happy, of doing you honor,
of becoming a noble wife. But I gather from that futile hope the
courage to return to a life of vice and infamy, that I may put an
eternal barrier between us. I sacrifice both honor and fortune to you.
The pride I take in that sacrifice will support me in my wretchedness,
--fate may dispose of me as it will. I will never betray you. I shall
return to Paris. There your name will be to me a part of myself, and
the glory you win will console my grief. As for you, you are a man,
and you will forget me. Farewell."
She darted away in the direction of the gorges of Saint-Sulpice, and
disappeared before the marquis could rise to detain her. But she came
back unseen, hid herself in a cavity of the rocks, and examined the
young man with a curiosity mingled with doubt. Presently she saw him
walking like a man overwhelmed, without seeming to know where he went.
"Can he be weak?" she thought, when he had disappeared, and she felt
she was parted from him.
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