“Raoul — dear Raoul! spare me, I implore you!” cried La Valliere. “Oh! if I had but known — ”

“It is too late, Louise; you love, you are happy in your affection; I read your happiness through your tears — behind the tears which the loyalty of your nature makes you shed; I feel the sighs your affection breathes forth.

Louise, Louise, you have made me the most abjectly wretched man living; leave me, I entreat you. Adieu! adieu!”

“Forgive me! oh, forgive me, Raoul, for what I have done.”

“Have I not done much, much more? Have I not told you that I love you still?” She buried her face in her hands.

“And to tell you that —