hand to him to withdraw; "Go," says he, "I see what you have
to say to me, but I have not the power to hear it." "I can

acquaint you with nothing," said the gentleman, "upon which one
can form any certain judgment; it is true, the Duke de Nemours

went two nights successively into the garden in the forest, and
the day after he was at Colomiers with the Duchess of Mercoeur."

"'Tis enough," replied Monsieur de Cleves, still making signs
to him to withdraw, "'tis enough; I want no further

information." The gentleman was forced to leave his master,
abandoned to his despair; nor ever was despair more violent. Few

men of so high a spirit, and so passionately" target="_blank" title="ad.多情地；热烈地">passionately in love, as the
Prince of Cleves, have experienced at the same time the grief

arising from the falsehood of a mistress, and the shame of being
deceived by a wife.

Monsieur de Cleves could set no bounds to his affliction; he felt
ill of a fever that very night, and his temper" target="_blank" title="n.犬热病；色粉颜料">distemper was accompanied

with such ill symptoms that it was thought very dangerous. Madam
de Cleves was informed of it, and came in all haste to him; when

she arrived, he was still worse; besides, she observed something
in him so cold and chilling with respect to her, that she was

equally surprised and grieved at it; he even seemed to receive
with pain the services she did him in his sickness, but at last

she imagined it was perhaps only the effect of his temper" target="_blank" title="n.犬热病；色粉颜料">distemper.
When she was come to Blois where the Court then was, the Duke de

Nemours was overjoyed to think she was at the same place where he
was; he endeavoured to see her, and went every day to the Prince

of Cleves's under pretence of enquiring how he did, but it was to
no purpose; she did not stir out of her husband's room, and was

grieved at heart for the condition he was in. It vexed Monsieur
de Nemours to see her under such affliction, an affliction which

he plainly saw revived the friendship she had for Monsieur de
Cleves, and diverted the passion that lay kindling in her heart.

The thought of this shocked him severely" target="_blank" title="ad.剧烈地；严格地">severely for some time; but the
extremity, to which Monsieur de Cleves's sickness was grown,

opened to him a scene of new hopes; he saw it was probable that
Madam de Cleves would be at liberty to follow her own

inclinations, and that he might expect for the future a series of
happiness and lasting pleasures; he could not support the ecstasy

of that thought, a thought so full of transport! he banished it
out of his mind for fear of becoming doublywretched, if he

happened to be disappointed in his hopes.
In the meantime Monsieur de Cleves was almost given over by his

physicians. One of the last days of his illness, after having
had a very bad night, he said in the morning, he had a desire to

sleep; but Madam de Cleves, who remained alone in his chamber,
found that instead of takingrepose he was extremely restless;

she came to him, and fell on her knees by his bedside, her face
all covered with tears; and though Monsieur de Cleves had taken a

resolution not to show her the violentdispleasure he had
conceived against her, yet the care she took of him, and the

sorrow she expressed, which sometimes he thought sincere, and at
other times the effect of her dissimulation and perfidiousness,

distracted him so violently with opposite sentiments full of woe,
that he could not forbear giving them vent.

"You shed plenty of tears, Madam," said he, "for a death which
you are the cause of, and which cannot give you the trouble you

pretend to be in; I am no longer in a condition to reproach
you," added he with a voice weakened by sickness and grief; "I

die through the dreadful grief and discontent you have given me;
ought so extraordinary an action, as that of your speaking to me

at Colomiers, to have had so little consequences? Why did you
inform me of your passion for the Duke de Nemours, if your virtue

was no longer able to oppose it? I loved you to that extremity,
I would have been glad to have been deceived, I confess it to my

shame; I have regretted that pleasing false security out of which
you drew me; why did not you leave me in that blind tranquillity

which so many husbands enjoy? I should perhaps have been
ignorant all my life, that you was in love with Monsieur de

Nemours; I shall die," added he, "but know that you make death
pleasing to me, and that, after you have taken from me the esteem

and affection I had for you, life would be odious to me. What
should I live for? to spend my days with a person whom I have

loved so much, and by whom I have been so cruelly deceived; or to
live apart from her and break out openly into violences so

opposite to my temper, and the love I had for you? That love,
Madam, was far greater than it appeared to you; I concealed the

greatest part of it from you, for fear of being importunate, or
of losing somewhat in your esteem by a behaviour not becoming a

husband: in a word, I deserved your affection more than once, and
I die without regret, since I have not been able to obtain it,

and since I can no longer desire it. Adieu, Madam; you will one
day regret a man who loved you with a sincere and virtuous

passion; you will feel the anxiety which reasonable persons meet
with in intrigue and gallantry, and you will know the difference

between such a love as I had for you, and the love of people who
only professadmiration for you to gratify their vanity in

seducing you; but my death will leave you at liberty, and you may
make the Duke de Nemours happy without guilt: what signifies

anything that can happen when I am no more, and why should I have
the weakness to trouble myself about it?

Madam de Cleves was so far from imagining that her husband
suspected her virtue, that she heard all this discourse without

comprehending the meaning of it, and without having any other
notion about it, except that he reproached her for her

inclination for the Duke de Nemours; at last, starting all of a
sudden out of her blindness, "I guilty!" cried she, "I am a

stranger to the very thought of guilt; the severest virtue could
not have inspired any other conduct than that which I have

followed, and I never acted anything but what I could have wished
you to have been witness to." "Could you have wished,"

replied Monsieur de Cleves, looking on her with disdain, "I had
been a witness of those nights you passed with Monsieur de

Nemours? Ah! Madam; is it you I speak of, when I speak of a lady
that has passed nights with a man, not her husband?" "No,

sir," replied she, "it is not me you speak of; I never spent a
night nor a moment with the Duke de Nemours; he never saw me in

private, I never suffered him to do it, nor would give him a
hearing. I'll take all the oaths . . ." "Speak no more of

it," said he interrupting her, "false oaths or a confession
would perhaps give me equal pain."

Madam de Cleves could not answer him; her tears and her grief
took away her speech; at last, struggling for utterance, "Look

on me at least, hear me," said she; "if my interest only were
concerned I would suffer these reproaches, but your life is at

stake; hear me for your own sake; I am so innocent, truth pleads
so strongly for me, it is impossible but I must convince you."

"Would to God you could!" cried he; "but what can you say? the
Duke de Nemours, has not he been at Colomiers with his sister?

And did not he pass the two foregoing nights with you in the
garden in the forest?" "If that be my crime," replied she,

"it is easy to justify myself; I do not desire you to believe
me, believe your servants and domestics; ask them if I went into

the garden the evening before Monsieur de Nemours came to
Colomiers, and if I did not go out, of it the night before two

hours sooner than I used to do." After this she told him how
she imagined she had seen somebody in the garden, and

acknowledged that she believed it to be the Duke de Nemours; she
spoke to him with so much confidence, and truth so naturally

persuades, even where it is not probable, that Monsieur de Cleves
was almost convinced of her innocence. "I don't know," said

he, "whether I ought to believe you; I am so near death, that I
would not know anything that might make me die with reluctance;

you have cleared your innocence too late; however it will be a
comfort to me to go away with the thought that you are worthy of