“Sure, ‘tis some angel speaks!” cried M. d’Harville, contemplating his wife with impassioned looks. “Oh, Clémence, you little know the pleasure and the pain you cause me. The severest reproach you ever addressed me—your hardest word or most merited rebuke never touched me as does this angelic devotion, this disregard of self, this generous sacrifice of personal enjoyment. Even despite myself, I feel hope spring up within me. I dare hardly trust myself to believe the blessed future which suggests itself to my imagination.”
“Ah, you may safely and implicitly believe all I say, Albert! I declare to you, by all that is sacred and solemn, that I have firmly taken the resolution I spoke of, and that I will adhere to it in strictest word and deed. Hereafter I may even be enabled to give you furt
