When
the words which proclaimed the connexion had escaped the lips of
Sigismund, she listened like one who fancied that her ears deceived her.
She had prepared herself to learn that he derived his being from some
peasant or ignoble artisan, and, once or twice, as he drew nearer to the
fatal declaration, awkward glimmerings of a suspicion that some repulsive
moral unworthiness was connected with his origin troubled her imagination;
but her apprehensions could not, by possibility, once turn in the
direction of the revolting truth. It was some time before she was able to
collect her thoughts, or to reflect on the course it most became her to
pursue. But, as has been seen, it was long before she could summon the
self-command to request what she now saw was doubly necessary, another
meeting with her lover. As both had thought of nothing but his last words
during the short separation, there appeared no abruptness in the manner in
which he resumed the discourse, on seating himself at her side, exactly as
if they had not parted at all.
"The secret has been torn from me, Adelheid.
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