When she had brought
her husband into the condition of perplexity, she managed that a
passionate letter should fall into his hands. One evening in the midst
of the admirable catastrophe which she had thus brought to a climax,
madame threw herself at her husband's feet, wet them with her tears,
and thus concluded the climax to her own satisfaction.
"I esteem and honor you profoundly," she cried, "for keeping your own
counsel as you have done. I am in love! Is this a sentiment which is
easy for me to repress? But what I can do is to confess the fact to
you; to implore you to protect me from myself, to save me from my own
folly. Be my master and be a stern master to me; take me away from
this place, remove me from what has caused all this trouble, console
me; I will forget him, I desire to do so. I do not wish to betray you.
I humbly ask your pardon for the treachery love has suggested to me.
Yes, I confess to you that the love which I pretended to have for my
cousin was a snare set to deceive you. I love him with the love of
friendship and no more.--Oh! forgive me! I can love no one but"--her
voice was choked in passionate sobs--"Oh! let us go away, let us leave
Paris!"
She began to weep; her hair was disheveled, her dress in disarray; it
was midnight, and her husband forgave her.
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