I am yours--yours
unconditionally.'" And as if in reply to a gesture of surprise
which escaped the magistrate, she added: "He is unhappy--I am
free--I love him!"
The magistrate was struck dumb with astonishment. He knew that
she would surely do what she said; he had realized that she was
one of those generous, heroic women who are capable of any
sacrifice for the man they love--a woman who would never shrink
from what she considered to be her duty, who was utterly incapable
of weak hesitancy or selfish calculation.
"Fortunately, my dear young lady, your devotion will no doubt be
useless," he said at last.
"And why?"
"Because M. Ferailleur owes it to you, and, what is more, he owes
it to himself, not to accept such a sacrifice." Failing to
understand his meaning, she looked at him inquiringly. "You will
forgive me, I trust," he continued, "if I warn you to prepare for
a disappointment. Innocent or guilty, M. Ferailleur is--
disgraced. Unless something little short of a miracle comes to
help him, his career is ended. This is one of those charges--one
of those slanders, if you prefer that term, which a man can never
shake off. So how can you hope that he will consent to link your
destiny to his?"
She had not thought of this objection, and it seemed to her a
terrible one. Tears came to her dark eyes, and in a despondent
voice she murmured: "God grant that he will not evince such cruel
generosity.
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