He drew himself up. He seemed to rearrange the motions of his mind
with a little of the old vanity, which was at once grotesque and piteous.
"I am going to forgive you and to try to put things right," he said.
"I have had my faults. You were not to blame altogether. I have left
you too much alone. I did not understand everything all through. I had
never studied women. If I had I should have done the right thing always.
I must begin to study women." The drawn look was going a little from his
face, the ghastly pain was fading from his eyes; his heart was speaking
for her, while his vain intellect hunted the solution of his problem.
She could scarcely believe her ears. No Spaniard would ever have acted
as this man was doing. She had come from a land of No Forgiveness.
Carvillho Gonzales would have killed her, if she had been untrue to him;
and she would have expected it and understood it.
But Jean Jacques was going to forgive her--going to study women, and so
understand her and understand women, as he understood philosophy! This
was too fantastic for human reason. She stared at him, unable to say a
word, and the distracted look in her face did not lessen.
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