While pronouncing these words, he scrutinized attentively his cousin’s countenance, full in the light from the opposite window. He saw his features relax, and his eyes glow with the same expression which he had noticed a few days previous, when he had referred to the fact that Reine had again postponed the marriage.
“Whence comes this singular change?” stammered de Buxieres, visibly agitated; “what reasons does Mademoiselle Vincart give in explanation?”
“Idle words: her father’s health, disinclination to leave him. You may suppose I take such excuses for what they are worth. The real cause of her refusal is more serious and more mortifying.”
“You know it, then?” exclaimed Julien, eagerly.
“I know it, because I forced Reine to confess it.”
“And the reason is?”
“That she does not love me.”
“Reine—does not love you!”
Again a gleam of light irradiated the young man’s large, blue eyes. Claudet was leaning against the table, in front of his cousin; he continued slowly, looking him steadily in the face:
“That is not all. Not only does Reine not love me, but she loves some one else.”