She could not have helped feeling grateful to me, and then who knows--?
While now, whatever may happen, I shall be an object of loathing to her: she will never be able to endure the sight of me.

In her eyes I shall always be her lover's assassin.

I have with my own hands opened an abyss! I have lost her a second time, and by my own fault." The unhappy man heaped the bitterest reproaches upon himself.

He was in despair.

He had never so hated Albert,--that wretch, who, stained with a crime, stood in the way of his happiness.