. . And you knew what you were doing, my friend Hector--
for I told you a hundred times that my wife was my all here below,
my present and my future, my dream and happiness and hope and very
life! You knew that for me to lose her was to die. But if you had
loved her--no, it was not that you loved her; you hated me. Envy
devoured you, and you could not tell me to my face, 'You are too
happy.' Then, like a coward, you dishonored me in the dark. Bertha
was only the instrument of your rancor; and she weighs upon you
to-day--you despise and fear her. My friend, Hector, you have been
in this house the vile lackey who thinks to avenge his baseness by
spitting upon the meats which he puts on his master's table!"
The count only responded by a shudder. The dying man's terrible
words fell more cruelly on his conscience than blows upon his cheek.
"See, Bertha," continued Sauvresy, "that's the man whom you have
preferred to me, and for whom you have betrayed me. You never
loved me--I see it now--your heart was never Mine. And I--I
loved you so! From the day I first saw you, you were my only
thought; as if your heart had beaten in place of Mine.
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