Melancholy was stronger than Reason, and three or four soft locks were beginning to whiten about his temples.
"Clementine!" said he, "I am the most miserable of men.

In refusing me the hand which you have promised, you condemn me to agony a hundred times worse than death.

Alas! What would you have me become without you?
I must live alone, for I love you too well to marry another.

For four long years, all my affections, all my thoughts have been centred upon you; I have become accustomed to regard other women as inferior beings, unworthy of attracting the interest of a man! I will not speak to you of the efforts I have made to deserve you; they brought their reward in themselves, and I was already too happy in working and suffering for you.

But see the misery in which your desertion has left me! A sailor thrown upon a desert island has less to deplore than I: I will be forced to live near you, to witness the happiness of another, to see you pass my windows upon the arm of my rival! Ah! death would be more endurable than this constant agony.