You are racking my heart, M.de Berault.

Some day I will ask God to give me strength to forgive you.' 'But you have not heard me out,' I said.
'I will hear no more,' she answered in a voice she vainly strove to render steady.

'To what end?
Can I say more than I have said?
Or did you think that I could forgive you now--with him behind us going to his death?
Oh, no, no!' she continued.

'Leave me! I implore you to leave me, sir.

I am not well.' She drooped over her horse's neck as she spoke, and began to weep so passionately that the tears ran down her cheeks under her mask, and fell and sparkled like dew on the mane; while her sobs shook her so that I thought she must fall.