appy? Whilst in reality I longed to welcome you
and to receive you with open hands, there seemed to be in the depths of
my nature another woman than myself, who revolted, who was afraid of and
mistrusted you--whose delight it was to torture you with uncertainty,
in the vague idea of setting up a quarrel, the cause of which, in a time
long passed, had been quite forgotten. I am not always good; often in my
soul things seem to creep up that I cannot explain or account for. The
worst of it was that I dared to speak to you of money. Fancy it, then!
Of money! I, who have never thought of it, who would accept chariots of
it, only for the pleasure of making it rain down as I wished, among the
needy! What a malicious amusement I gave myself in this calumniating my
character. Will you ever forgive me?"

CHAPTER IX

Felicien was at her feet. Until now he had kept his place in the remote
corner of the balcony. But in the intense happiness she gave him in thus
unfolding the innermost secrets of her soul he had drawn himself on his
knees towards her, as he approached the window. This great, illimitable
joy was so unlooked for, that he yielded to it in all the infinitude of
its hopes of the future.

He half whispered:

"Ah, dear soul, pure, kind, and beautiful, your wonderful goodness has
cured me as with a breath! I know not now if I have ever suffered.
And, in your turn, you will now have to pardon me, for I have an
acknowledgment to make to you. I must tell you who I am."

He was troubled at the thought he could no longer disguise himself or
his position, since she had confided so freely and entirely in him. It
would be disloyal in the highest degree to do so. Yet he hesitated, lest
he might, after all, lose her, were she to be anxious about the future
when at last she knew the facts.

And she waited for him to speak again, a little malicious in spite of
herself.

In a very low voice he continued:

"I have told a falsehood to your parents."

"Yes, I know it," she said as she smiled.

"No, you do not know it; you could not possibly know it, for all that
happened too long ago. I only paint on glass for my own pleasure, and as
a simple amusement; you really ought to be told of that."

Then, with a quick movement, she put her hand on his mouth, as if she
wished to prevent this explanation.

"I do not care to hear any more. I have been expecting you. I knew
that sooner or later you would come, and you have done so. T