"
She threw so much tenderness into these words that I fell down on my
knees before her. Who could resist her glance and her voice?
"My God!" I cried, "you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love
me?"
"Yes, I love you; yes, I belong to you; do with me what you will. I will
follow you, let us go away together; come, Octave, the carriage is
waiting."
She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead.
"Yes, it must be," she murmured, "it must be."
"It _must_ be," I repeated to myself. I arose. On the table, there
remained only one piece of paper that Brigitte was examining. She picked
it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor.
"Is that all?" I asked.
"Yes, that is all."
When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished
merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry
my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.
"It must be!" I said to myself. "It must be!" I repeated aloud.
"What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I
do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love
me?"
She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.
"Ah! Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love!"
"Yes, I think you are right, but, before God, I know how to suffer. You
must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I to
lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not
leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing
me for more than a month.
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