tely for her, you have no power at present
over your own property; you cannot play the benefactress without the
consent of your guardian, and that you will never obtain."

"But if I marry, I will have the right," answered Bertha, naively.

"You will have the consent of your husband to obtain, and that will be
equally difficult."

"That is true, but I am not discouraged. I suppose when I am of age I
shall have the power, and I need not marry before then. I am sixteen,
nearly seventeen; it will not be so _very_ long to wait, and I am
determined to serve Madeleine."

"Many events may occur to make you change you mind before you attain
your majority. Meanwhile you are fostering tastes in Madeleine which are
unsuited to her condition. I know you think me very severe, but"--

"No, no, aunt, you are never severe toward me; you are only too kind,
too indulgent; you spoil me with too much love and consideration; and it
is because you _have_ spoiled me so completely that I mean to be saucy
enough to speak out just what I think."

Bertha seated herself on the footstool at her aunt's feet, took her hand
caressingly, and with an earnest air prattled on.

"It is with Madeleine that you are severe, and you grow more and more
severe every day. You speak to her so harshly, so disdainfully at
times, that I hardly recognize you. One would not imagine that she is
your grandniece as much as I am,--that is, _almost_ as much, for she was
the grandniece of the Count de Gramont, my uncle. You find incessant
fault with her, and she seems to irritate you by her very presence. Oh!
I have seen it for a long time, and during this last visit I see it more
than ever."

"Bertha!" commenced her aunt, in a tone which might have awed any less
volatile and determined speaker.

"Do not interrupt me, aunt; I have not done yet, and I _must_ speak. Why
do you put on this manner towards Madeleine? You _do put it on_,--it is
not natural to you,--for you are kind to every one else. And have you
not been most kind to her also? Were you not the only one of her proud
relatives who held out a hand to her when she stood unsheltered and
alone in the world? Have you not since then done everything for her?
Done everything--but--but--but _love her_?"

"Bertha, you are the only one who would venture to"--

"I know it, aunt,--I am the only one who would venture, so grant me one
moment more; I have not done yet. Madeleine cannot be an incumbrance,
for who is so