"I have guessed rightly, have I not?" said Dixmer. "Well, reassure yourself, Geneviève; I know Maurice to be a fierce Republican, whose heart contains no other love than love of country."
"Sir!" exclaimed Geneviève, "are you certain of what you say?"
"Eh, without doubt," replied Dixmer. "If Maurice loved you, instead of quarrelling with me he would redouble his attentions and civilities to one whom it was his interest to deceive. If Maurice loved you, he would not so easily renounce his title of 'friend of the family,' generally used to cover these intrigues."
"Do not, I beseech you," cried Geneviève, "make a jest of these things."
"I do not jest, Madame; I only tell you Maurice does not love you, that is all."
"And I—I," said Geneviève, "tell you that you are mistaken."
"In that case," replied Dixmer, "Maurice, who has had sufficient strength to tear himself away rather than make a cuckold of his host, is an honest man; and as such men are rare, Geneviève, one cannot do too much to reclaim them when lost. Geneviève, you will write to Maurice, will you not?"
"Oh, my God!" cried the young woman, letting her head fall on her hands, for he to whom she looked for support in a moment of danger had precipitated instead of restraining her fall.
Dixmer regarded her for a moment, then forcing a smile,—
"Come, darling," said he, "no woman's self-esteem. If Maurice wishes to recommence a declaration, laugh at the second as you did at the first. I know you, Geneviève, you are a worthy and noble woman. I can depend on you."