He did not wish Claire to
perceive a trace of the emotion which affected him.
"How she loves him!" he thought, "how she loves him!"
His mind was sunk in the darkest thoughts. All the stings of jealousy
were rending him. What would not be his delight, if he were the object
of so irresistible a passion as that which burst forth before him! What
would he not give in return! He had, too, a young and ardent soul, a
burning thirst for love. But who had ever thought of that? He had been
esteemed, respected, perhaps feared, but not loved; and he never would
be. Was he, then, unworthy of it? Why do so many men pass through life
dispossessed of love, while others, the vilest beings sometimes, seem to
possess a mysterious power, which charms and seduces, and inspires those
blind and impetuous feelings which to assert themselves rush to the
sacrifice all the while longing for it? Have women, then, no reason, no
discernment?
Mademoiselle d'Arlange's silence brought the magistrate back to the
reality. He raised his eyes to her. Overcome by the violence of her
emotion, she lay back in her chair, and breathed with such difficulty
that M. Daburon feared she was about to faint.
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