"

"Then you love one who has never aspired?"

"I fear so," answered Bertha, ingenuously, and yet blushing deeply.

Madeleine looked troubled; she had long entertained a pleasant hope
which she saw about to vanish.

"And you have loved him,--how long?" she asked, gravely.

"Oh, a very short time; only since day before yesterday," replied
Bertha.

This answer added to Madeleine's discomposure. There was no hope for
Gaston de Bois.

"Why do you look so sorrowful?" inquired Bertha, noticing her cousin's
expression.

"I am thinking of one who has loved you long, with such devotion, with
such self-abnegation, with such an ardent desire to become worthy of
you, that I could not but sigh over his disappointment. But this sudden
affection of yours may not be very deep."

"Ah, but it _is_! And as for suddenness, when I say I have only loved
him since day before yesterday, I mean that I only then discovered how
much I cared for him."

"And how came you to know that he was dear to you?"

"You will be very much shocked when I answer that question; but you
always said I was eccentric. I first felt that I loved him when I saw
him getting into a great rage, and when I positively fancied that I
caught the sound of a horrible oath, which he uttered in an undertone!"

"That _is_ original! I never before heard of a young lady being inspired
by love for a young man when he was angry, or when he was profane."

"Ah, but he was angry in a good cause," returned Bertha, earnestly. "It
was righteous indignation, and it was the violence with which he
defended one whom I love, that won my heart completely."

"Whom did he defend?" asked Madeleine, unsuspiciously.

"_You_,--_you_, my own, best Madeleine, and for _that_ I loved him. It
was so wonderful, knowing how constitutionally diffident he is, to see
him so courageous. And when I remembered how he used to hesitate and
stammer, it seemed marvellous to hear him talk on with an ease, a
fluency, a fervor truly eloquent. I never ask to listen to finer
oratory. My aunt, in spite of her indignation, was confounded into
silence. Count Tristan could not say a word, and Maurice looked as
though amazement alone kept him from throwing himself in his friend's
arms, and I fear I almost felt like doing the same."

"It was Gaston de Bois, then?" cried Madeleine, with sudden transport.

"Yes. Who else could it be? And he was so comical at the same time that
he was so pathetic! At first I alm