During
the last two months, while strength and hope have been failing me, have I
said a word of that fatal love which is consuming me? Raise your head and
answer me. Do you not see that I suffer and that my nights are given to
weeping? Have you not met in the forest an unfortunate wretch, sitting in
solitary dejection with his hands pressed to his forehead? Have you not
seen tears on these bushes? Look at me, look at these mountains; do you
realize that I love you? They know it, they are my witnesses; these rocks
and these trees know my secret. Why lead me before them? Am I not
wretched enough? Do I fail in courage? Have I obeyed you? To what tests,
what tortures am I subjected, and for what crime? If you do not love me,
what are you doing here?"
"Let us return," she said, "let us retrace our steps."
I seized her horse's bridle.
"No," I replied, "for I have spoken. If we return, I lose you, I realize
it; I know in advance what you will say. You have been pleased to try my
patience, you have set my sorrow at defiance, perhaps that you might have
the right to drive me from your presence; you have become tired of that
sorrowful lover who suffered without complaint and who drank with
resignation the bitter chalice of your disdain! You knew that, alone with
you in the presence of these trees, in the midst of this solitude where
my love had its birth, I could not be silent! You wish to be offended.
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