Aline had been wanting in candour on the subject of her
feelings towards M. de La Tour d'Azyr. It was, he supposed, a
woman's way to be secretive in such matters, and he must not blame
her. Nor could he blame her in his heart for having succumbed to
the singular charm of such a man as the Marquis - for not even his
hostility could blind him to M. de La Tour d'Azyr's attractions.
That she had succumbed was betrayed, he thought, by the weakness
that had overtaken her upon seeing him wounded.
"My God!" he cried aloud. "What must she have suffered, then, if
I had killed him as I intended!"
If only she had used candour with him, she could so easily have won
his consent to the thing she asked. If only she had told him what
now he saw, that she loved M. de La Tour d'Azyr, instead of leaving
him to assume her only regard for the Marquis to be based on
unworthy worldly ambition, he would at once have yielded.
He fetched a sigh, and breathed a prayer for forgiveness to the
shade of Vilmorin.
"It is perhaps as well that my lunge went wide," he said.
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