"A misfortune which you cannot help, and which Bertha will never remember when she bestows her heart upon one who is worthy of the gift."
"How can she ever deem me worthy? Even if I succeed in making myself a name,—a position; even if I become all that you have caused me to dream of being,—this dreadful imped—ed—ediment, this stammering which renders me ridiculous in the eyes of every one, in her eyes even, will"—
"Your stammering is only the effect of timidity," answered Madeleine, soothingly. "Believe me, it is nothing more; as you overcome your diffidence and gain self-possession, you will find that it disappears. For instance, you have been talking to me for some time with ease and fluency."
"To you, ah, yes; with you I am always at my ease,—I have always confidence. It is not difficult to talk to one for whom I have so much affection,—so much, and yet not too much."
"That proves fluent speech possible."
"But to any one else, if I venture to open my heart, I hesitate,—I get troubled,—I—I stammer,—I make myself ridic—ic—iculous!"
"Not at all."
"But I do," reiterated Gaston, warmly. "Fancy a man saying to a woman he adores, yet in whose presence he trembles like a school-boy, or a culprit, 'I—I—I—lo—ov—ov—ove you!'"
"The fact is," began Madeleine, laughing good-naturedly.
"There! there!" cried M. de Bois, with a gesture of impatience and discouragement; "the fact is, that you laugh yourself,—you, who are so forbearing!"