Was not such conduct truly heroic in a man whose dazzling offers she had
refused? Was there not real moral grandeur in the feeling that induced
Martial to reveal a secret which might ruin the political fortunes of
his house, rather than be suspected of an unworthy action? And still
the thought of this _grande passion_ which she had inspired in so truly
great a man never once made her heart quicken its throbbing.
Alas! nothing was capable of touching her heart now; nothing seemed to
reach her through the gloomy sadness that enveloped her.
She was but the ghost of the formerly beautiful and radiant Marie-Anne.
Her quick, alert tread had become slow and dragging, often she sat for
whole days motionless in her chair, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, her
lips contracted as if by a spasm, while great tears rolled silently down
her cheeks.
Abbe Midon, who was greatly disquieted on her account, often attempted
to question her.
"You are suffering, my child," he said, kindly. "What is the matter?"
"I am not ill, Monsieur."
"Why do you not confide in me? Am I not your friend? What do you fear?"
She shook her head sadly and replied:
"I have nothing to confide.
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