All my friends, monsieur, respect each other; they know that
I have not philosophy enough to admit into my house those I do not
esteem; this may argue a want of charity; but my guardian-angel has
maintained in me to this day a profound aversion for tattle, and also
for dishonesty."
Through the ring of her voice was slightly raised during the first
part of this answer, the last words were said with the ease and
self-possession of Celimene bantering the Misanthrope.
"Madame," said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in a voice of some emotion, "I
am an old man; I am almost Octave's father, and I ask your pardon most
humbly for the question that I shall now venture to put to you, giving
you my word of honor as a loyal gentleman that your answer shall die
here,"--laying his hand upon his heart, with an old-fashioned gesture
that was truly religious. "Are these rumors true; do you love Octave?"
"Monsieur," she replied, "to any other man I should answer that
question only by a look; but to you, and because you are indeed almost
the father of Monsieur de Camps, I reply by asking what you would
think of a woman if to such a question she answered _you_? To avow our
love for him we love, when he loves us--ah! that may be; but even when
we are certain of being loved forever, believe me, monsieur, it is an
effort for us, and a reward to him. To say to another!--"
She did not end her sentence, but rose, bowed to the old man, and
withdrew into her private apartments, the doors of which, opening and
closing behind her, had a language of their own to his sagacious ears.
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