"And did you believe all that?"
"No," she replied promptly, "for you had not told me so! But then my
mother, seeing that I would only believe you, changed her tactics: she
spoke about Count Kiusko, his wealth, and his love for me."
"She did that, did she?"
"Oh, forgive her!" she continued; "she gets anxious both on my account
and her own. She is alarmed about the future, and fancies she sees me
deserted by you! Well, it was simply a cruel struggle for me, in which
my heart could not betray you. I suffered through it, and that's all!
But three days ago, I don't know what can have passed during your aunt's
party, my mother, on our way home, said to me in a decided manner that
she had resolved 'to live no longer among the infidels,' and intended
'to return to the land of the Faithful, in order to expiate the great
wrong she had committed by living here.' "I was dismayed at this resolution of hers. As she based it upon our
faith, I could not oppose her, for that would have been a sacrilege, but
I could at least invoke her affection for me, and entreat her not to
leave. Then, while I was on my knees before her, and was kissing her and
crying, she startled me by saying: 'You shall not leave me; for, when I
go, I shall take you away with me'!"
"Why, she must be crazy!" I exclaimed.
"Well, dear," added Kondjé-Gul, "you can easily understand what a
thunderbolt this was to me! I felt it so painfully that I nearly swooned
away. My mother was alarmed and called for Fanny. The next day, I
attempted to prevail upon her to change her mind, declaring that it
would kill me to be separated from you. I thought I had mollified her,
for she kissed me and said that all she cared about was my happiness.
But this evening, while we were in the carriage on our way to
Suzannah's, she spoke again to me about Count Kiusko. I have a
presentiment that the greatest enemy to our love and happiness is that
man; and that he it is who has been influencing my mother, hoping, no
doubt, that when separated from you I should no longer be able to resist
her wishes.
"Well, you know the rest, I had gone into the boudoir while you were
dancing, when the count came and sat down by my side.--'Is it true that
you are going away?' he said to me, after a minute or so. 'Who could
make you believe such a thing?' I replied coldly. 'Why, something your
mother told me which seemed to imply it.' I remained silent--he did not
venture to follow up the subject, and said nothing more for a few
minutes. I kept my eyes on a book which I was looking through, for I
felt that his eyes were fixed upon me. 'Perhaps you will regret André a
little,' he continued, 'but what can you do? He is not free,--and
besides, do you suppose he would have loved you?' "At this question, the cruel irony of which wounded me to the quick, I
was possessed by some mad impulse, I raised my head and replied to him
in such a scornful tone that he rose up in confusion. Just then you came
in. I wished to overwhelm him with my contempt so as to destroy all
further hopes he might cherish. You know what I said--"