At last Rose
ventured in a timorous voice to say, "I thank you for your generosity.
But I knew that you would not betray me."
"Your secret is safe for me," sighed Edouard. "Is there anything else I
can do for you?"
Rose shook her head sadly.
Edouard moved to the door.
Rose bowed her head with a despairing moan. It took him by the heart and
held him. He hesitated, then came towards her.
"I see you are sorry for what you have done to me who loved you so; and
you loved me. Oh! yes, do not deny it, Rose; there was a time you loved
me. And that makes it worse: to have given me such sweet hopes, only to
crush both them and me. And is not this cruel of you to weep so and let
me see your penitence--when it is too late?"
"Alas! how can I help my regrets? I have insulted so good a friend."
There was a sad silence. Then as he looked at her, her looks belied the
charge her own lips had made against herself.
A light seemed to burst on Edouard from that high-minded,
sorrow-stricken face.
"Tell me it is false!" he cried.
She hid her face in her hands--woman's instinct to avoid being read.
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