Claire, mademoiselle, do not spurn me: I love you!" While the magistrate was speaking, Mademoiselle d'Arlange looked at him as though doubtful of the evidence of her senses; but at the words, "I love you!" pronounced with the trembling accents of the most devoted passion, she disengaged her hand sharply, and uttered a stifled cry.
"You," murmured she, "is this really you ?" M.Daburon, at this the most critical moment of his life was powerless to utter a word.

The presentiment of an immense misfortune oppressed his heart.

What were then his feelings, when he saw Claire burst into tears.
She hid her face in her hands, and kept repeating,-- "I am very unhappy, very unhappy!" "You unhappy ?" exclaimed the magistrate at length, "and through me?
Claire, you are cruel! In heaven's name, what have I done?
What is the matter?
Speak! Anything rather then this anxiety which is killing me." He knelt before her on the gravelled walk, and again made an attempt to take her hand.

She repulsed him with an imploring gesture.
"Let me weep," said she: "I suffer so much, you are going to hate me, I feel it.

Who knows! you will, perhaps, despise me, and yet I swear before heaven that I never expected what you have just said to me, that I had not even a suspicion of it!" M.Daburon remained upon his knees, awaiting his doom.
"Yes," continued Claire, "you will think you have been the victim of a detestable coquetry.