"Ah! Madam," cries Monsieur de Cleves, "both your looks

and words convince me that you have reasons to desire to be alone,

which I don't know; I conjure you to tell them me." He urged her a

great while to inform him, without being able to oblige her to it; and

after she had excused herself in a manner which still increased her

husband's curiosity, she continued in a deep silence, with her eyes

cast down then, taking up the discourse on a sudden, and looking upon

him, "Force me not," said she, "to confess a thing to you which I have

not the power to confess, though I have often designed it; remember

only, that it is not prudent a woman of my years, and mistress of her

own conduct, should remain exposed in the midst of a Court." "What is

it, Madam," cried Monsieur de Cleves, "that you lead me to imagine? I

dare not speak it, for fear of offending you." Madam de Cleves making

no answer, her silence confirmed her husband in what he thought; "You

say nothing to me," says he, "and that tells me clearly, that I am not

mistaken."

"Alas, sir," answered she, falling on her knees, "I am

going to make a confession to you, such as no woman ever yet made to

her husband; but the innocence of my intentions, and of my conduct,

give me power to do it; it is true, I have reasons to absent myself

from Court, and I would avoid the dangers persons of my age are

sometimes liable to; I have never shown any mark of weakness, and I

cannot apprehend I ever shall, if you will permit me to retire from

Court, since now I have not Madam de Chartres to assist me in my

conduct; however dangerous a step I am taking, I take it with pleasure

to preserve myself worthy of you; I ask you a thousand pardons, if I

have sentiments which displease you, at least I will never displease

you by my actions; consider, that to do what I do, requires more

friendship and esteem for a husband than ever wife had; direct my

conduct, have pity on me, and if you can still love me."

Monsieur de Cleves, all the while she spoke, continued leaning his head

on his hand, almost beside himself, and never thought of raising her

up. When she had done speaking, and he cast his eyes upon her, and saw

her on her knees with her face drowned in tears, inimitably beautiful,

he was ready to die for grief, and taking her up in his arms, "Have you

pity on me, Madam," says he, "for I deserve it, and pardon me, if in

the first moments of an affliction so violent as mine, I do not answer

as I ought to so generous a proceeding as yours; I think you more

worthy of esteem and admiration than any woman that ever was, but I

find myself also the most unfortunate of men: you inspired me with

passion the first moment I saw you, and that passion has never decayed;

not your coldness, nor even enjoyment itself, has been able to

extinguish it; it still continues in its first force, and yet it has

not been in my power to kindle in your breast any spark of love for me,

and now I find you fear you have an inclination for another; and who is

he, Madam, this happy man that gives you such apprehensions? How long

has he charmed you?




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