"Maurice,—my cousin, my dear, dear cousin!—these words compensate me for all my trials and struggles. I hardly dared to dream that I should hear them for your lips. Ah, to-day,—to-day when I am about to accomplish one of the ends for which I have most earnestly toiled,—to-day when I shall become full possessor of this mansion, henceforth a home of my own,—this day will ever be full of precious memories to me; it will be written upon my book of life moistened with the sweetest tears I ever shed,—tears of gratitude and joy."
"You are to purchase this magnificent mansion? Is it possible?" asked Maurice, for the first time looking around him. "How can you have achieved this, Madeleine? You have had some friend who aided you, and"—he paused abruptly.
"I have had friends, Maurice, warm and devoted friends," answered Madeleine, simply.
"But," he resumed, and hesitated, "how—how has all this been brought about? Ah, Madeleine, I have not forgotten, I cannot forget the sad revelation you made to me in Brittany. He whom you love,—it is he,—he who has protected you, who has enjoyed the exquisite happiness of aiding you by his advice, and by his own means perhaps"—
Maurice uttered these words excitedly and almost in a tone of reproach.
"No, Maurice," returned Madeleine, growing ghastly pale, and speaking with an effort which gave her voice a hollow, unnatural sound. "He whom I love has never aided me,—I have received no assistance from him,—I have given him no right to offer any."
"He whom you love!" repeated Maurice with culminating anguish. "Then you love him,—you do love him still? Answer me, Madeleine. Do not torture me by suspense! Answer me,—you love him still?"
"As ever!" replied Madeleine, and an irrepressible blush chased the ashy whiteness of her cheeks.
"And he is here,—here in America,—here in Washington?" asked Maurice.