Part 43 (2/2)
”Neither I nor any woman could!” said Sylvie, ”I do not believe very much in 'reforming' men, Katrine. If they need to reform, they must reform themselves. We make our own lives what they are.”
”Dear little philosopher!” said Madame Bozier tenderly, taking Sylvie's small white hand as it hung down from her shoulder and kissing it, ”You are very depressed to-day! You must not take things so seriously! If you do not love the Marquis as you once did--”
”As I once did--ah, yes!” said Sylvie, ”I did love him. I thought he could not be otherwise than great and true and n.o.ble-hearted--but--”
She broke off with a sigh.
”Well, and now that you know he is not the hero you imagined him, all you have to do is to tell him so,” said the practical Bozier cheerfully, ”Or if you do not want to pain him by such absolute candour, give him his refusal as gently and kindly as you can.”
Sylvie sighed again.
”I am very sorry,” she said, ”If I could have foreseen this--perhaps--”
”But did you not foresee it?” asked Madame Bozier persistently, ”Did you not realize that men always want what they cannot have--and that the very fact of your leaving Paris increased his ardour and sent him on here in pursuit?”
Sylvie Hermenstein was of a very truthful nature, and she had not attempted to deny this suggestion.
”Yes--I confess I did think that if I separated myself altogether from him it might induce him to put himself in a more honourable position with me--but I did not know then--” she paused, and a deep flush crimsoned her cheeks.
”Did not know what?” queried Madame Bozier softly.
Sylvie hesitated a moment, then spoke out bravely.
”I did not know then that I should meet another man whose existence would become ten times more interesting and valuable to me than his!
Yes, Katrine, I confess it! There is no shame in honesty! And so, to be true to myself, however much the Marquis might love me now, I could never be his wife.”
Madame Bozier was silent. She guessed her beloved pupil's heart's secret,--but she was too tactful to dwell upon the subject, and before the brief, half-embarra.s.sed pause between them had ended, a servant entered, asking,
”Will the Signora Contessa receive the Capitano Ruspardi?”
Sylvie rose from her seat with a look of surprise.
”Ruspardi?--I do not know the name.”
”The business is urgent;--the Capitano is the bearer of a letter to the Signora Contessa.”
”Remain with me, Katrine,” said Sylvie after a pause,--then to the servant--”Show Captain Ruspardi in here.”
Another moment, and a young officer in the Italian uniform entered hurriedly,--his face was very pale,--and as the Comtesse Hermenstein received him in her own serene sweet manner which, for all its high-bred air had something wonderfully winning and childlike about it, his self-control gave way, and when after a profound salute he raised his eyes, she saw they were full of tears. Her heart began to beat violently.
”You bring some bad news?” she asked faintly.
”Madama, I beg you not to distress yourself--this letter--” and he held out a sealed envelope,--”was given to me specially marked, among others, by my friend, the Marquis Fontenelle--last right before--before he went to his death!”
”His death!” echoed Sylvie, her eyes dilating with horror--”His death!
What do you mean?”
Madame Bozier came quickly to her side, and put a hand gently on her arm. But she did not seem to feel the sympathetic touch.
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