"It was needless to say that, dear Madeleine," cried Maurice, whose powers of utterance had returned when he saw Madeleine about to be assailed. "No one who knows you would dare to believe that you ever committed an action that demanded a blush."
Madeleine thanked him with her speaking countenance. Perhaps it was only fancy, but he thought he felt a light, grateful pressure of the hand he held.
"But tell us where you have been!" continued Bertha, affectionately. "You look differently, Madeleine, and yet the same; and how this rich attire becomes you! You are no longer poor and dependent then,—are you?"
"I am no longer poor, and no longer dependent!" answered Madeleine, in a tone of honest pride.
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the count and his mother together.
"But how has all this happened?" Bertha ran on. "Oh! I can divine: you are married,—you have made a brilliant marriage."
At those words a suppressed groan, of unutterable anguish, struck on Madeleine's ear; and the hand Maurice held dropped from his grasp.
"Speak! do speak! dear Madeleine!" continued Bertha. "Tell us all your sufferings,—for you must have suffered at first,—and all your joys, since you are happy now. And tell us how you chance to be here,—here in America, as we are; and how it happens that you are calling upon the Marchioness de Fleury, at the same time as ourselves; and why you expect to be received by her, though she will not receive us."
Before Madeleine could reply, and she was evidently collecting herself to speak, Lurline, who had just returned from executing her commission, passed through the hall. The door of the drawing-room stood open; she caught sight of Madeleine, and ran toward her, exclaiming joyfully,—