"It's very hard-hearted," replied Bertha, tantalizingly; "but I have promised my aunt to accompany her, and I, cannot break my word."
"But your promise to me?"
"I hope to keep that, in good time, when the conditions are fulfilled."
"But you link that promise with conditions which may never be fulfilled,—never!"
"Then we must be happy as we are," said Bertha, naïvely.
Bertha's obstinacy was surprising in one of her malleable, easily influenced character; but it seemed prompted by an instinctive belief that Gaston would be forced to make some exertion,—take some steps (their nature Bertha did not define to herself) which would result in bringing about Madeleine's happiness, and in promoting her union with her unknown lover. This one idea had taken such full possession of Bertha's brain that it could not be dislodged, and all Gaston's fervent entreaties that she would not let his happiness depend upon such an unlikely contingency were fruitless.
"Then I have but one alternative," said Gaston, at last. "I will resign my secretaryship and accompany you to Brittany. You cannot imagine that I would let you go without me?"
Bertha did not say how much pleasure this suggestion gave her; but the glad radiance in her blue eyes told she had been unexpectedly spared one half the sacrifice which she had determined to make, if necessary.
When Madeleine learned from Gaston the proposed departure of the countess and her family, a death-like pallor suddenly overspread her countenance, and she gasped out faintly, "All,—all going?"
"Dear, dear Madeleine," cried Bertha, "do not look so; you frighten me. It's very sad to leave you in this strange land alone. It depends upon you to keep two of us near you,—I mean M. de Bois and myself."