guilty person, am I not?” said Maximilian.
“Maximilian!” said Valentine, “Maximilian, come back, I entreat you!”
He drew near with his sweet smile, and but for his paleness one might have thought him in his usual happy mood.
“Listen, my dear, my adored Valentine,” said he in his melodious and grave tone; “those who, like us, have never had a thought for which we need blush before the world, such may read each other’s hearts. I never was romantic, and am no melancholy hero. I imitate neither Manfred nor Anthony; but without words, protestations, or vows, my life has entwined itself with yours; you leave me, and you are right in doing so—I repeat it, you are right; but in losing you, I lose my life. The moment you leave me, Valentine, I am alone in the world. My sister is happily married; her husband is only my brother-in-law, that is, a man whom the ties of social life alone attach to me; no one then longer needs my useless life.
This is what I shall do; I will wait until the very moment you are married, for I will not lose the shadow of one of those unexpected chances which are sometimes reserved for us, since M. Franz may, after all, die before that time, a thunderbolt may fall even on the altar as you approach it—nothing appears impossible to one condemned to die, and miracles appear quite reasonable when his escape from death is concerned.
I will, then, wait until the last moment,