Bressant

"I hardly can say how long, papa--I think--I think it must have been

a--a long time--at least, on my side. Oh! I have been so false--so false

to myself, and so unwomanly! I have courted him, papa--I, papa--think

of it! I've thrown myself in his way, and--and made him interested in

me; and talked to him about things that--no one but his mother, or you,

should have done. Poor fellow!--I've forced myself upon him, papa. I

took advantage of his illness and helplessness, and pretended all the

time I was thinking only of his spiritual welfare, and--and not of--of

any thing else. That was the wickedest part. And yet, somehow, I

deceived myself too--or, rather, I wouldn't see the truth: and I didn't

know--papa, I really believe I didn't know that I--loved him, till

he--till he began to speak of it; then it seemed suddenly to fill all my

heart, as if it had always lived there. For I succeeded, papa: I've won

his love, and, oh! he loves me so! he loves me so! and so I've found my

punishment in my happiness. God is so just and good. The happier his

love makes me, you see, the more I shall be humbled to think how it

became mine. It is well for me, for I was proud and reserved and full of

self-conceit. And you really think it will not hurt him to love me, and

to have me love him, papa?"

"Stuff and nonsense!" growled the old gentleman, testily; "hurt him!"

But the professor was really a very wise man, in spite of his occasional

blindness; and he refrained from showing Sophie the exaggeration and

distortion which marked the view she took of her conduct. He saw it

would involve lowering the high integrity of her ideal conceptions

respecting delicacy and honor--hardly worth while, merely for the sake

of explaining the distinction between a trifling piece of self-deception

and mistaken vanity, and the severe and unrelenting sentence which

Sophie had passed upon herself. Meanwhile, every word she had uttered

had been an indirect, but none the less telling blow upon a sore place

in his own conscience. It was long since Professor Valeyon had stood so

low in his own self-esteem.

They sat awhile in silence, Sophie nestling up to her father as if

seeking protection from the very love that had come to her; and he

sighed, and sighed again, and coughed, and pulled his nose and his

beard, and finally blew his nose. Then, depositing Sophie upon her feet,

he got slowly up, stretched himself, and went for his pipe.

"Run off, my dear. Go up in your room, or out in the garden, or

somewhere. I must be alone a little while, you know; must think it all

over, and see how things stand. Besides, I must step in and see this

fellow who's going to rob me of my daughter, and tell him what I think

of him. Come, off with you!"