"If Madeleine does not love you, and you only, I have no skill in interpreting 'the weather signs of love.' I ought not to be too confident of my own judgment; and yet I cannot force myself to doubt that, in this instance, it is correct."
"Say that again and again. I cannot hear it too often. You cannot force yourself to doubt,—you are quite convinced then, quite sure that Madeleine, my own Madeleine, loves me?"
"I am indeed," responded Mrs. Walton, tenderly.
Maurice folded his arms about her, bowed his head on her shoulder, and his great joy found a vent which it had never known before; for never before had tears of ecstasy poured from his eyes. That Mrs. Walton should weep too was but natural. She was a woman, and tears are the privilege of her sex. Ronald had evidently some fears, that their emotion would prove contagious; for he walked up and down the room with remarkable rapidity, and then threw open the window and looked out, cleared his throat several times, and finally said, in tolerably firm accents,—
"But, Maurice, what are we to do if the countess is determined to return to Brittany at once?"
"If Madeleine loves me, I can endure anything! I can leave her, I can go with my father, or perform any other hard duty. The sweet certainty of her love will brighten and lighten my trial. Oh, if I could only be sure!"
"Make yourself sure as soon as possible," suggested Ronald, to whom promptitude was a second nature.
"I will go to her; I will tell her what I believe; I will implore her to grant me the happiness of knowing that her heart is mine. But O Ronald, if I have been deluded,—if you have given me false hopes"—
"You will fight me," answered Ronald, laughing. "Of course that's all a friend gets for trying to be of service."