municate in exchange which is
very far from sad. Maurice, are you prepared to hear anything I may have
to say?"

"When did your words fail to do me good?" asked Maurice. "Do you think I
have forgotten our long arguments in Paris, when I was in a state of
such deep dejection, and you roused me and spurred me on to action by
your buoyant, active, hopeful spirit? But go on."

"I want to speak of your cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont."

Maurice expressed by his looks how welcome that theme ever was.

"You ardently desire," continued Ronald, "for so my mother has told me,
to know who Mademoiselle Madeleine loves."

"Yes, I desire it more than words can utter."

"I think I can tell you," returned Ronald.

"You? You are not in earnest?" cried Maurice, in amazement. "For the
love of Heaven, Ronald, do not sport with such a subject!"

"I do _not_ jest, Maurice. I only tell you what you ought yourself to
have discovered long ago."

"How could I? There is no possible clew. Madeleine sees no one, writes
to no one, whom I could conceive to be the man whom she prefers."

"Easily explained," continued Ronald. "That man does not know he is
beloved by her."

"Incredible!" replied Maurice.

"Very credible, my dear Maurice, as you are bound to admit; for that man
stands before me."

"Ronald, for pity's sake--this--this is inhuman!"

"Do not wrong me so much, Maurice, as to think me capable of speaking
lightly upon such a subject. My mother's perception of character is
really wonderful; and her instincts, I think, never fail her; she is
convinced that it is _you_, and you only, whom Madeleine loves. Reflect
how many proofs of love she has given you! Has she not, through M. de
Bois, kept trace of all your movements during the years that you were
separated? Did she not run great risk to watch beside your sick-bed in
Paris? Did you not tell me that it was her prompt and generous
interference which prevented your losing your credit with Mr. Emerson?
Does not her every action prove that you are ever in her thoughts? And,
Maurice, I tell you, it is _you_ whom she loves."

Maurice listened as though some holy voice from supernal regions chanted
heavenly music in his ears. But he roused himself from the delicious
dream, for he did not dare to yield to its spell, and said,--

"Did she not herself tell me that she loved another?"

"May you not have mistaken her exact words?" asked Ronald. "It was
necessary to renounce you, to tak