And I fear that I have brought
trouble into his household. But love him? As we love our brothers.
The pulse never bounds, the color never comes and goes, the tongue is
never motionless nor the voice silenced in the presence of a brother.
My love for Victor is friendship without envy, distrust, or
self-interest. He came upon my sadness and shadow as a rainbow comes
on the heels of a storm. But love him with the heart's love, the love
which a woman gives to one man and only once?"
"Poor Victor!" said Anne.
"Oh, do not worry about Victor. He is a poet. One of their
prerogatives is to fall in love every third moon. But the poor boy!
Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too. I knew
not what was going on till too late."
"And you put your name to that paper!"
"What would you? Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, and
there are black and blue spots on my arm yet."
"Tell me about that grey cloak."
"There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it. And
something told me from the beginning that he was innocent."
"And the Chevalier du Cevennes could not have worn it because he was in
Fontainebleau that dreadful night.
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