He is so mild and gentle, so fearful to give pain; he has consented, from pity,--that is all.

Is he not pledged to me?
He, so candid, so ingenuous! There must be truth somewhere in the world.

If he is false, where find truth?
Dark man, must I look for it in you,--you ?" "It is not my truth I require you to test; I pretend not to truth universal; I can be true to one, as you may yet discover.

But I own your belief is not impossible; my interest in you may have made me rash and unjust,--what you may overhear, far from destroying, may confirm forever your happiness.

Would that it may be so!" "It must be so," returned Lucretia, with a fearful gloom on her brow and in her accent; "I will interpret every word to my own salvation." Dalibard's countenance changed, despite his usual control over it.