monsieur de Cleves, like a man transported and desperate: How! does the duke de Nemours know that you are in love with him, and that I am acquainted with it?—You are always for singling out the duke de Nemours rather than any other, replied she; I have told you I will never answer you concerning your suspicions: I am ignorant whether the duke de Nemours knows the part I have in this adventure, and that which you have ascribed to him; but he told it to the viscount de Chartres, and said he had it from one of his friends, who did not name the lady: this friend of the duke de Nemours must needs be one of yours, whom you entrusted the secret to, in order to clear up your suspicions.—Can one have a friend in the world, in whom one would repose such a confidence, replied monsieur de Cleves; and would a man clear his suspicions at the price of informing another with what one would wish to conceal from one's self? Think rather, madam, to whom you have spoken; it is more probable this secret should have escaped from you than from me; you was not able alone to support the trouble you found yourself in, and you endeavoured to comfort yourself by complaining to some confidant, who has betrayed you.—Do not wholly destroy me, cried she, and be not so hard-hearted as to accuse me of a fault you have committed yourself: can you suspect me of it? and do you think, because I was capable of informing you of this matter, I was therefore capable of informing another?
The confession which madam de Cleves had made to her husband was so great a mark of her sincerity, and she so strongly denied that she had entrusted it to any other, that monsieur de Cleves did not know what to think. On the other hand he was sure he had never said anything of it; it was a thing that could not have been guessed, and yet it was known; it must therefore come from one of them two; but what grieved him most was, to know that this secret was in the hands of
