"_Was_ he the same, think you?" asked Madeleine, eagerly.
"Yes, I am sure of it; and I come here to-day as his messenger,--or, rather, as the herald of his coming."
Madeleine trembled, in spite of herself. The thought of beholding Maurice once more, of conversing with him, of listening to him, affected her too strongly for her to be able even to _assume_ indifference.
M. de Bois regarded her with an air of exultation.
"I have judged you rightly, then, and you are unchanged. Maurice is not less dear to you than"--
Madeleine's hand, appealingly lifted, checked him.
For a few moments she remained silent. When her tranquillity was somewhat restored, she said slowly, but in an altered tone,--
"You are the messenger of Maurice; what did he request you to say to me."
"He commissioned me to let you know that he earnestly desired an interview with you, at once,--and alone,--free from interruption. He entreats you to receive him to-day. I promised, as soon as I could make known to you his petition, that I would return to him with your answer;--he awaits it impatiently. What answer shall I give him?"
"He may come," answered Madeleine, in a tone of suppressed emotion.
"I will tell him that he may be here in an hour?" said Gaston interrogatively, for he saw the mighty struggle Madeleine was making to control herself, and thoughtfully desired to give her some little time for preparation.
Madeleine bowed her head in acquiescence.
Gaston had too much delicacy to prolong the conversation. He bade her adieu and at once sought Maurice.
M. de Bois lost no time in communicating to Maurice the result of his visit. He found the young viscount awaiting him with torturing impatience. Gaston had scarcely said that Madeleine would receive her cousin in an hour, when Maurice, without heeding the last words, caught up his hat, convulsively grasped his friend's hand, and, without uttering a syllable, hurried forth.
He was acquainted with Madeleine's residence,--he had sought it out the night previous,--and thither he now hastened. He bounded up the street door-steps, but paused a moment as his hand touched the bell. Was he again about to look upon that face which he had sought with such fruitless, but frenzied ardor? He thought of those days when all creation became a blank because that heaven-lit countenance no longer shone upon him. His brain and heart throbbed and beat at those tumultuous recollections until both seemed mingled in one wild motion.