"To my cousin Bertha, and to me."
"Mademoiselle Ber—er—ertha! Will she heed my absence? She—she—she,—will she?" asked Gaston, confusedly.
"Yes—but take care; if you let me see how deeply that idea affects you, you will fail to play the diplomat in disguising your thoughts, for I shall divine your secret."
"My secret,—what—what secret? What is it you divine? What do you imagine? I mean."
"That you love Bertha,—love her as she deserves to be loved?"
"I? I?" replied M. de Bois, trying to speak calmly; but, finding the attempt in vain, he burst forth: "Yes, it is but too true; I love her with my whole soul; I love her passionately; love her despairingly,—ay, despairingly!"
"And why despairingly?"
"Alas! she is so rich!" he answered, in a tone of chagrin.
"True, she is encumbered with a large and un-encumbered estate."
"A great misfortune for me!" sighed Gaston.