I used to wonder what this love was," he goes on, as
if to himself, "that seizes upon men and holds them fast and changes
them so. I think I understand it now, and the beauty of it and the
degradation, too. I love you so that, if by some stroke of fate I could
be changed into a prince or a duke, like your Monsieur de Grammont or
Monsieur de Noailles, and you would give me your love, as to some such
exalted personage, I would be base enough to accept it, though I knew
you would never give it to the untitled American."
"Enough, Monsieur!" said Adrienne, rising in some agitation. "This
conversation is painful to me and I know must be to you. Had I guessed
what you had to say, I would have spared you."
"No," returned Calvert, grimly, a wave of crimson suddenly spreading
over his pale face ('twas the only sign he gave of the anger and pain
gnawing at his heart), "you would have had to listen. I came to
Azay-le-Roi to tell you that I love you. Do you think I would have gone
away without speaking?"
Adrienne regarded him in haughty amazement.
"At least you will do me the favor never to refer to this again?"
"You may rest assured, Madame, that I shall never annoy you again.
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