She had never heard a harsh word from my mouth, and felt herself much disconcerted. She seemed to wish for Bernardos's advice, but he probably had none to give, and she, like one that has a bad conscience, began to screen her damped courage, under the mask of assurance.
"What answer," returned she, "from the mouth of Don Carlos? What ails you? What can be the matter with you?"
—"Nothing, Madam, I have told you so already."
She now relented, and wanted to try what softness would do. "What ails my dear?" cried she with an artfully tremulous voice, and presenting her hand to me, "Does he know me no more?"
She was actually like nothing in my eyes. When the senses are once freed from love's enchantment, the heart is but little apt to give way to the illusion. I beheld this petty scene with cold indifference, shook her hand like that of some old acquaintance, and then let it go again, though the wanted to hold me fast with one finger.
