The young baron, distracted at the sight of her grief, and full of keen self-reproach, put her gently down into a low, easy-chair standing near, and kneeling before her, took in both his own the hands that she abandoned to him, and passionately implored her pardon; pleading that a momentary madness had taken possession of him, that he repented of it bitterly, and was ready to atone for his offence by the most perfect submission to her wishes.
"You have hurt me sadly, my friend!" said Isabelle at last, with a deep-drawn sigh.

"I had such perfect confidence in your delicacy and respect.

The frank, unreserved avowal of my love for you ought to have been enough, and have shown you clearly, by its very openness, that I trusted you entirely.

I believed that you would understand me and let me love you in my own way, without troubling my tenderness for you by vulgar transports.

Now, you have robbed me of my feeling of security.
I do not doubt your words, but I shall no longer dare to yield to the impulses of my own heart.