fession like mine, which I was no way obliged to? Take my word, I purchase dearly the confidence I desire of you; I conjure you to believe I have not given away my picture; it is true, I saw it taken; but I would not seem to see it, for fear of subjecting myself to hear such things as no one has yet dared to mention to me.—How do you know then that you are loved? said monsieur de Cleves. What mark, what proof of it has been given you?—Spare me the pain, replied she, of repeating to you circumstances which I am ashamed to have observed, and which have convinced me but too much of my own weakness.—You are in the right, madam, answered he, I am unjust; always refuse me when I ask you such things, and yet do not be angry with me for asking them.
Just then several of the servants, who had staid in the walks, came to acquaint monsieur de Cleves, that a gentleman was arrived from the king, with orders for him to be at Paris that evening. Monsieur de Cleves was obliged to go, and had only time to tell his wife, that he desired her to come to Paris the next day; and that he conjured her to believe, that however afflicted he was, he had a tenderness and esteem for her with which she ought to be satisfied.
When he was gone, and madam de Cleves being alone, considered what she had done, she was so frightened at the thought of it, she could hardly believe it to be true. She found she had deprived herself of the heart and esteem of her husband, and was involved in a labyrinth she should never get out of; she asked herself why she had ventured on so dangerous a step, and perceived she was engaged in it almost without having designed it; the singularity of such a confession, for which she saw no precedent, made her fully sensible of her danger.
But, on the other hand, when she came to think that this remedy, however violent it was, was the only effectual one she could make use of against monsieur de Nemours, she found she had no cause to repent, or to
