She turned round amazed, but not being able to comprehend this strange familiarity, in one who was totally unknown to her, she half-opened the door.
“Marguerite!” reiterated Paul, advancing a step towards his sister, “Marguerite, do you not hear me call you?”
“It is true that my name is Marguerite, sir,” she replied, with dignity; “but I could not imagine that word was addressed to me by a person whom I have the honor of knowing.”
“But I know you!” exclaimed Paul, going nearer to her, and then closing the door he brought her back into the room. “I know that you are unhappy, that you have not one friendly heart into which you can pour your sorrows, not one arm from which you can ask support.”
“You forget the one which is on high,” replied Marguerite, raising her eyes and hand toward heaven.
“No, no, Marguerite, I do not forget, for it is He who sends me to offer you that which you most need; to tell you when all lips and all hearts are closed toward you, ‘I am your friend, devotedly, eternally.’”
“Oh! sir!” replied Marguerite, “these are sacred and solemn words which you have uttered; words, unfortunately, to which it would be difficult for me to give credence without proofs.”
“And should I give you one?” said Paul.
“Impossible!” murmured Marguerite.
“Irrefragable!” continued Paul.