Never mind my tears!--they are nothing. There are hundreds of women
who would accept his proposals,--and he thinks I must be like them,-
-ready to fall into his arms like a ripe peach at a touch! He thinks
all I say to him is an assumed affectation of virtue, and that he
can easily break down that slight barricade. He tells me I am a
charming preacher, but that he could never learn anything from
sermons!" She laughed, "Oh, he is incorrigible! But I want you to
let him know that for once he is mistaken. Will you? And you shall
not have to say even the smallest figment of an untruth,--your news
will be quite correct--for I leave Paris to-morrow morning."
She was very quiet now as she spoke--her brilliant eyes were dark
with thought, and her delicate face wore a serious, almost
melancholy expression.
"Dear Sylvie!" said Angela, kissing her soft cheek, "You really care
for this wretched man?"
"I am not sure," she answered with a touch of hesitation in her
voice, "I think I do--and yet despise myself for it!--but--who knows
what wonders change of air and scene may work! You see, if I go away
he will forget at once, and will trouble himself about me no more."
"Are you sure of that?"
Sylvie hesitated.
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