Beside the table where Ruth was painting, Madeleine made the longest pause. She seemed disposed to converse with her young favorite; and Ruth smiled so gratefully that M. de Bois was half reconciled to the delay, though he had an important reason for wishing to exchange a few words with Madeleine as soon as possible. The interval before she passed out of the room to return to her boudoir appeared sufficiently tedious. Gaston followed her and said,--
"Will you grant me a few moments, or are you very busy this morning?"
"Busy always," replied Madeleine, extending her hand to welcome him; "but seldom _too_ busy to lack time for my best friend. Will you come to my own little sanctum?"
The room to which Gaston followed her offered a striking contrast, in point of furniture, to those which they had just left. Madeleine's boudoir, though it had an air of inviting comfort, was adorned with almost rigid simplicity. The only approach to luxury was a tiny conservatory, she had caused to be built, rendered visible by glass doors.
Madeleine took her seat before a small rosewood table, and with a pencil in her hand, and a piece of drawing-paper before her, said, "You will not mind my sketching as we talk. I have an idea floating through my head, and I want to throw it off on paper; I can listen and answer, just as well, with my fingers occupied."
Well might Gaston contemplate her in silent and wondering admiration. Neither her countenance nor her manner betrayed any trace of the suffering she must have endured on the day previous. She seemed to have completely banished its recollection from her thoughts. M. de Bois was fearful of touching upon the subject, it seemed so wholly to have vanished from her mind; yet his errand compelled him.
"What courage, what perseverance you possess, Mademoiselle Madeleine! It is incredible,--inexplicable," he said, at last, as he watched the delicate fingers moving over the paper.
"There you err," answered Madeleine, brightly. "It is, at least, very _explicable_, for it is in working that I find my strength, my inspiration, my consolation! It was _work, incessant work_, which sustained me when I determined to take a step from which my weaker, frailer part shrank. A step which utter wretchedness first suggested to me; which seemed terribly galling, oppressively revolting; which I ventured upon with inconceivable pain. Yet, as you have seen, I was enabled, in time, to look upon that step with resignation; I afterwards contemplated it with pride; I now regard it with positive pleasure. This could never have been had I not resolved to resist all temptation to brood over grief, and turned to work as a refuge from sorrow."