“Reproaches! Have I a right to make you any?”

“No, unfortunately, no; but tell me, you, who during a year I have loved without return or hope — ”

“You are mistaken — without hope it is true, but not without return.”

“What! for me, of my love! there is but one proof, and that proof I still want.”

“I am here to bring it, monsieur.”

Fouquet wished to clasp her in his arms, but she disengaged herself with a gesture.

“You persist in deceiving yourself, monsieur, and will never accept of me the only thing I am willing to give you — devotion.”