"
"You forget the infamous career of a lost woman; I return to it, I
leave you--yes, that I may not bring upon your head the contempt that
falls on mine. Without that fear, perhaps--"
"But if I fear nothing?"
"Can I be sure of that? I am distrustful. Who could be otherwise in a
position like mine? If the love we inspire cannot last at least it
should be complete, and help us to bear with joy the injustice of the
world. But you, what have you done for me? You desire me. Do you think
that lifts you above other men? Suppose I bade you renounce your
ideas, your hopes, your king (who will, perhaps, laugh when he hears
you have died for him, while I would die for you with sacred joy!); or
suppose I should ask you to send your submission to the First Consul
so that you could follow me to Paris, or go with me to America,--away
from the world where all is vanity; suppose I thus tested you, to know
if you loved me for myself as at this moment I love you? To say all in
a word, if I wished, instead of rising to your level, that you should
fall to mine, what would you do?"
"Hush, Marie, be silent, do not slander yourself," he cried. "Poor
child, I comprehend you. If my first desire was passion, my passion
now is love. Dear soul of my soul, you are as noble as your name, I
know it,--as great as you are beautiful. I am noble enough, I feel
myself great enough to force the world to receive you.
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