So long as he was Valerie's lover, the count never thought of asking
the return of his letters from his beloved accomplice. If the idea had
occurred to him, he would have repelled it as an insult to the character
of his angel. What reason could he have had to suspect her discretion?
None. He would have been much more likely to have supposed her desirous
of removing every trace, even the slightest, of what had taken place.
Was it not her son who had received the benefits of the deed, who had
usurped another's name and fortune?
When eight years after, believing her to be unfaithful, the count had
put an end to the connection which had given him so much happiness he
thought of obtaining possession of this unhappy correspondence. But he
knew not how to do so. A thousand reasons prevented his moving in the
matter.
The principal one was, that he did not wish to see this woman, once so
dearly loved. He did not feel sufficiently sure either of his anger or
of his firmness. Could he, without yielding, resist the tearful pleading
of those eyes, which had so long held complete sway over him?
To look again upon this mistress of his youth would, he feared, result
in his forgiving her; and he had been too cruelly wounded in his pride
and in his affection to admit the idea of a reconciliation.
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