How often Madeleine had been reminded of that debt which her services at the Château de Gramont had cancelled a hundred times over!
Before she could respond to her aunt's remark, Bertha went on,--
"You do not comprehend my plan, aunt. Madeleine, of course, must give up her present occupation; there is no need of her pursuing it; I am rich enough for both. She shall live with me and share my fortune. Madeleine, you will not refuse me this? For nearly five years I have mourned over our separation, and wasted my life in the vain hope of seeing you again. You would be ashamed of me if you knew in what a weak, frivolous, idle manner, I have passed my days, while you were working so unceasingly, and with such grand results. I shall never learn to make good use of my hours except under your guidance. Long before I reached my majority I looked forward gladly to the time when I should be a free agent and could share my _fortune_ with you. My aunt knows that I communicated my intention to her before you left the Château de Gramont. And now, Madeleine, my own best Madeleine,--you will let the dream of my life become a reality,--will you not? Say yes, I implore you!"
Bertha had spoken with such genuine warmth and hearty earnestness that a colder nature than Madeleine's must have been melted. She folded the generous girl tenderly and silently in her arms, and, after a pause, which the countenance of her aunt made her aware that the proud lady was on the eve of breaking, answered, sadly,--
"It was worth suffering all I endured, Bertha, to have your friendship tested through this fiery ordeal, and to know that your heart cannot be divided by circumstances from mine. But your too liberal offer I cannot accept; the path I have marked out I must pursue until I reach the goal which I am nearing. An incompleteness in the execution of my deliberate plans would render me more miserable than I am to-day in being cast off by my own family."
"Do not speak such cruel words," returned Bertha. "They do not cast you off; that is, _I_ do not, and never will; and I am sure"--
She turned to look at Maurice, who had stood silent through the whole scene, leaning upon the mantel-piece, his head still resting on his hand, and his eyes fixed upon Madeleine. His mind was too full of conflicting emotions for him to speak; above all other images rose that of the being whom Madeleine had declared she loved. Did she love him still? Was he here? Did he know her condition? Was M. de Bois, whom she had entrusted with her secret,--M. de Bois, who had protected and aided her,--the object of her preference? Maurice could not answer these torturing questions, and the happiness of once more beholding the one whom he had so long fruitlessly sought, made him feel as though he were passing through a strange, wild dream, which, but for _one doubt_, would have been full of ecstasy.