This was a most distasteful suggestion to Gaston, who had a masculine touch of jealousy in his composition,—just enough to make him desire to monopolize Bertha entirely. He was not willing that she should have a thought which she could not communicate to him; to hide anything from him was to rob him! Was his an exceptional case, or are men in general as exigeant?
"Well, you do not answer?" Bertha observed.
"I should be grieved if I had not your whole confidence, now and ever," he replied.
"So shall I be if I have not yours. Should one exact more than one is willing to give? Tell me who it is that you suspect Madeleine of loving. Tell me at once!"
"I cannot,—I have no right!"
"I think you have no right to withhold the knowledge from me."
"I think so too," answered Gaston, sorely perplexed; "and yet I must not tell you! Will you not be generous enough to pity me, and ask me no more?"
Bertha only pouted at this appeal; but Gaston must have found some means of soothing her, for, by and by, she said, coquettishly,—
"Of course, I only wanted to know on Madeleine's account and on yours."
"Mine?" exclaimed Gaston.