y conscious of a slight difficulty
in utterance to rejoice at its existence, for it rendered delightfully
apparent Bertha's thoughtfulness in catching up words upon which he
hesitated, and concluding sentences he commenced, as though she read
their meaning in his eyes. Gaston had not seen her in so buoyant a mood
since they parted at the Chateau de Gramont. But the tide of her
exuberant gayety suddenly ebbed when she noticed the look of pain with
which he involuntarily responded to one of her chance questions. She had
asked if he thought it probable Maurice would find Madeleine in Dresden.
Again that singular expression on his countenance; again that sudden
change of color at Madeleine's name; again that involuntary starting
from his seat, with a return of the olden habit which placed fragile
furniture in danger! Was it the remembrance that Madeleine was lost to
them which occasioned M. de Bois's sudden depression? Was it an
overwhelming sense of doubt concerning the result of Maurice's mission,
which made his response to Bertha's inquiry so vague, his sentences so
disjointed? Once more Bertha asked herself whether he were not, after
all, the lover Madeleine had refused to mention. Yet, if this were the
case, how could Gaston have appeared so much less anxious and less
concerned at her flight than Maurice, who loved her with unquestionable
ardor? Why had M. de Bois aided so little in the search for her present
habitation? The young girl could not reconcile such apparent
contradictions, and while she sat perplexing herself by futile efforts
to unravel these mysteries, M. de Bois was equally puzzled to rightly
interpret her silence and abstraction.

The interview which, at its opening, had been as bright as a spring
morning, closed with sudden April shadows; and there was an April
mingling of smiles and tears upon Bertha's countenance when she retired
to her chamber, after M. de Bois's departure, and pondered over his
strange expression when her cousin was mentioned. Why, if Madeleine was
his choice, was his manner toward herself so full of tenderness? Why was
it that she never glanced at him without finding his eyes fastened upon
her face? Why had he so much power to draw her irresistibly towards him?
Why did his step set her heart throbbing so tumultuously? Why did his
coming cause her such a thrill of delight, and his departure leave such
a sense of solitude?--a void that no one else filled, a pain that no
other presen