Bertha, half unconsciously seated herself, and Gaston did the same. Then came another pause, a longer one than before; it was broken by Bertha, who exclaimed,—
"You defended Madeleine nobly and courageously! and how I thanked you!"
"I only did her justice, or, rather, I did her far less than justice," returned Gaston.
"Yet few men would have dared to say what you did in my aunt's presence."
"Could any man who had known Mademoiselle Madeleine as intimately as I have had the honor of knowing her, through these four last painful years of her life, could any man who had learned to reverence her as I reverence her, have said less?"
"But my aunt, by her towering pride, awes people out of what they ought to do, and what they want to do; at least, she does me; and therefore,—therefore I honored you all the more when I saw you had the courage to tell her harsh truths, while pleading Madeleine's cause so eloquently."
Gaston was much moved by these unanticipated and warmly uttered commendations. He tried to speak, but once again relapsed into his old habit of stammering.
"Your praises are most pre—pre—pre"—
Bertha finished his sentence as in by-gone days. "Precious, are they indeed? I am glad! I am truly glad that they are precious."