"He was discreet," said she, "while he was
unhappy; but the thought of being happy, though on uncertain grounds,
has put an end to his discretion; he could not consider that he was
beloved, without desiring to have it known; he said everything he could
say; I never acknowledged it was he I was in love with; he suspected
it, and has declared his suspicions; if he had been sure of it, he
might have acted as he has; I was to blame for thinking him a man
capable of concealing what flattered his vanity; and yet it is for this
man, whom I thought so different from other men, that I am become like
other women, who was so unlike them before. I have lost the heart and
esteem of a husband who ought to have been my happiness; I shall soon
be looked upon by all the world as a person led away by an idle and
violent passion; he for whom I entertain this passion is no longer
ignorant of it; and it was to avoid these misfortunes that I hazarded
my quiet, and even my life." These sad reflections were followed by a
torrent of tears; but however great her grief was, she plainly
perceived she should be able to support it, were she but satisfied in
the Duke de Nemours.
The Duke was no less uneasy than she; the indiscretion he had been
guilty of in telling what he did to the Viscount de Chartres, and the
mischievous consequences of it, vexed him to the heart; he could not
represent to himself the affliction and sorrow he had seen Madam de
Cleves in without being pierced with anguish; he was inconsolable for
having said things to her about this adventure, which, though gallant
enough in themselves, seemed on this occasion too gross and impolite,
since they gave Madam de Cleves to understand he was not ignorant that
she was the woman who had that violent passion, and that he was the
object of it. It was before the utmost of his wishes to have a
conversation with her, but now he found he ought rather to fear than
desire it. "What should I say to her!" says he; "should I go to
discover further to her what I have made her too sensible of already!
Shall I tell how I know she loves me; I, who have never dared to say I
loved her? Shall I begin with speaking openly of my passion, that she
may see my hopes have inspired me with boldness? Can I even think of
approaching her, and of giving her the trouble to endure my sight?
Which way could I justify myself? I have no excuse, I am unworthy of
the least regard from Madam de Cleves, and I even despair of her ever
looking upon me: I have given her by my own fault better means of
defending herself against me than any she was searching for, and
perhaps searching for to no purpose. I lose by my imprudence the glory
and happiness of being loved by the most beautiful and deserving lady
in the world; but if I had lost this happiness, without involving her
in the most extreme grief and sufferings at the same time, I should
have had some comfort; for at this moment I am more sensible of the
harm I have done her, than of that I have done myself in forfeiting her
favour."