“It is not for herself that she is so, but for her son, and what you regard as a vice becomes almost a virtue when looked at in the light of maternal love.”
“But could you not compromise matters, and give up a portion of your fortune to her son?”
“How could I make such a proposition, especially to a woman who always professes to be so entirely disinterested?”
“Valentine, I have always regarded our love in the light of something sacred; consequently, I have covered it with the veil of respect, and hid it in the innermost recesses of my soul. No human being, not even my sister, is aware of its existence. Valentine, will you permit me to make a confidant of a friend and reveal to him the love I bear you?”
Valentine started. “A friend, Maximilian; and who is this friend? I tremble to give my permission.”
“Listen, Valentine. Have you never experienced for anyone that sudden and irresistible sympathy which made you feel as if the object of it had been your old and familiar friend, though, in reality, it was the first time you had ever met? Nay, further, have you never endeavored to recall the time, place, and circumstances of your former intercourse, and failing in this attempt, have almost believed that your spirits must have held converse with each other in some state of being anterior to the present, and that you are only now occupied in a reminiscence of the past?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that is precisely the feeling which I experienced when I first saw that extraordinary man.”
“Extraordinary, did you say?”
“Yes.”