tempted to throw herself in his arms and
confess all. The high resolves of years of self-denial were on the verge
of being broken in one weak moment; but the very peril, the very
temptation calmed her suddenly. She brushed away her tears, and, gently
withdrawing the hand Maurice held, said, in broken accents,--

"I have caused you too much pain in other days, Maurice. I should not
have added more by allowing you to witness my weakness. Help me to be
strong; for you see I have sore need of help."

"All that I can offer, Madeleine, you reject," said Maurice,
reproachfully. "My heart and life are yours, and you fling them from
you."

"Maurice, my cousin, my best friend, spare me! I have no right to listen
to this language."

"But the right to hear it from the lips of another," retorted Maurice
bitterly.

"Be generous, Maurice. For pity's sake, do not speak on that subject."

There was so much anguish depicted in Madeleine's face that Maurice was
conscience-stricken by the conviction that his rashly selfish words had
caused her additional pain.

"This is a poor return, Madeleine, for all the good you have done my
father,--all the good you have done me,--you have done us all. You see
what a selfish brute I am! My very love for you, which should shield you
from all suffering, has, through that fatal selfishness, added to your
sorrow. Can you pardon me?"

"When you wrong me, Maurice, I will; but that day has yet to come. Leave
me for a few moments, and I will complete what I have to do here and
join you."

Maurice complied, but slowly and reluctantly, and looking back as he
left the room.

Madeleine wept no more; she bathed her face and smoothed her disordered
hair, and then collected all the articles scattered about, placed them
carefully in the trunk, shut it and locked it, looked about to see that
nothing was forgotten, ordered her carriage, and with a composed mien
entered the little boudoir.

Maurice must have used some potent argument with his father which
reconciled him to his change of habitation, or made him comprehend that
resistance was useless, for when Robert announced that the carriage was
at the door, and Madeleine brought the count's coat to exchange for his
dressing-gown, he allowed her to assist him, only repeating the term of
affection so often on his lips.

The count was ready, and Madeleine signed to Maurice not to linger. He
gave his arm to his father, and they passed through the entry. Ma