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you, I think nothing is more so, than to entreat you to believe,

that if I have said anything in which the Queen-Dauphin may seem



concerned, I did it for reasons which do not relate to her."

Madam de Cleves pretended not to hear him, and left him without



giving him a look, and went towards the King, who was just come

in. As there were abundance of people there, she trod upon her



gown, and made a false step, which served her as an excuse to go

out of a place she had not the power to stay in, and so



pretending to have received some hurt she went home.

Monsieur de Cleves came to the Louvre, and was surprised not to



find his wife there; they told him of the accident that had

befallen her, and he went immediately home to enquire after her;



he found her in bed, and perceived her hurt was not considerable.

When he had been some time with her, he found her so excessive



melancholy that he was surprised at it; "What ails you, Madam?"

says he; "you seem to have some other grief than that which you



complain of." "I feel the most sensible grief I can ever

experience," answered she; "what use have you made of that



extraordinary, or rather foolish confidence which I placed in

you? Did not I deserve to have my secret kept? and though I had



not deserved it, did not your own interest engage you to it?

Should your curiosity to know a name it was not reasonable for me



to tell you have obliged you to make a confidant to assist you in

the discovery? Nothing but that curiosity could have made you



guilty of so cruel an indiscretion; the consequences of it are as

bad as they possibly can be. This adventure is known, and I have



been told it by those who are not aware that I am principally

concerned in it." "What do you say, Madam?" answered he;



"you accuse me of having told what passed between you and me,

and you inform me that the thing is known; I don't go about to



clear myself from this charge, you can't think me guilty of it;

without doubt you have applied to yourself what was told you of



some other." "Ah! Sir," replied she, "the world has not an

adventure like mine, there is not another woman capable of such a



thing. The story I have heard could not have been invented by

chance; nobody could imagine any like it; an action of this



nature never entered any thoughts but mine. The Queen-Dauphin

has just told me the story; she had it from the Viscount de



Chartres, and the Viscount from the Duke de Nemours." "The

Duke de Nemours!" cried Monsieur de Cleves, like a man



transported and desperate: "How! does the Duke de Nemours know

that you are in love with him, and that I am acquainted with



it?" "You are always for singling out the Duke de Nemours

rather than any other," replied she; "I have told you I will



never answer you concerning your suspicions: I am ignorant

whether the Duke de Nemours knows the part I have in this



adventure, and that which you have ascribed to him; but he told

it to the Viscount de Chartres, and said he had it from one of



his friends, who did not name the lady: this friend of the Duke

de Nemours must needs be one of yours, whom you entrusted the



secret to, in order to clear up your suspicions." "Can one

have a friend in the world, in whom one would repose such a



confidence," replied Monsieur de Cleves, "and would a man clear

his suspicions at the price of informing another with what one



would wish to conceal from oneself? Think rather, Madam, to whom

you have spoken; it is more probable this secret should have



escaped from you than from me; you was not able alone to support

the trouble you found yourself in, and you endeavoured to comfort



yourself by complaining to some confidant who has betrayed you."

"Do not wholly destroy me," cried she, "and be not so



hard-hearted as to accuse me of a fault you have committed

yourself: can you suspect me of it? and do you think, because I



was capable of informing you of this matter, I was therefore

capable of informing another?"



The confession which Madam de Cleves had made to her husband was

so great a mark of her sincerity, and she so strongly denied that



she had entrusted it to any other, that Monsieur de Cleves did

not know what to think. On the other hand he was sure he had



never said anything of it; it was a thing that could not have

been guessed, and yet it was known; it must therefore come from



one of them two; but what grieved him most was to know that this

secret was in the hands of somebody else, and that in all



probability it would be soon divulged.

Madam de Cleves thought much after the same manner; she found it






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