hope."

There was a dignity in his grief more touching than the most passionate
outburst would have been. Even his grandmother, in spite of her joy at
Madeleine's declaration, was not wholly unmoved as she contemplated him.
Count Tristan's exultation broke through all polite disguise,--

"Madeleine has atoned for much of the past by her present conduct; it
has restored her in a measure to"--

Madeleine, as far as her gentle nature permitted, experienced an
antipathy toward Count Tristan only surpassed by that which he
entertained for her. The sound of his voice grated on her ears; his
commendation made her doubt the wisdom and purity of her own act; his
approval irritated her as no rebuke could have done. Without waiting for
him to conclude his sentence, she grasped Bertha's hand, whispering, "I
cannot stay here; I am stifling; come with me."

They left the room together, and took their way in silence to
Madeleine's chamber. Bertha carefully closed the door, and, drawing her
cousin down into a seat, placed herself beside her, and strove to read
her countenance.

"Madeleine, is it possible? How mistaken I have been! You do not love
our cousin Maurice. Poor Maurice! It is a dreadful blow to him. And you
love some one else. But whom? I know of no gentleman who comes here
often,--who is on an intimate footing at the chateau,--except"--

A painful suspicion for the first time shot through her mind, and made
her pause. Could it be Gaston de Bois whom Madeleine preferred? She
always treated him with such marked courtesy. There was no one else,--it
must be he! Bertha could not frame the question that hovered about her
lips, though to have heard it answered in the negative would have made
her heart leap for joy.

Madeleine was too much absorbed by her own reflections to divine those
of her cousin.

"At all events," said Bertha, trying to rally and talk cheerfully,
though she could not chase that haunting fear from her thoughts, "my
aunt is no longer angry with you, and cousin Tristan was well pleased.
They will treat you better after this, and your home will be happier."

"_My home?_" ejaculated Madeleine, in a tone that made Bertha start.

"Yes, yours, until you exchange it for that of the favored lover, of
whose name you make such a mystery."

"_That will never be!_"

"Never? Does he not love you, then? But I know he does,--he must. Every
one loves you; no one can help it,--you win all hearts!"

"_Count Trista