"If I only dared to think that she had ever given me the faintest evidence of favorable regard!"
"When she sees you embarrassed and hesitating, does she not always finish your sentences?"
"Is it pos—pos—pos—" stammered Gaston.
"Possible?" said Madeleine. "Yes, I have observed that she invariably does so if she imagines herself unnoticed. I have besides remarked a certain expression on her transparent countenance when we talked of you, and she has dropped a word, now and then,"—
"What—what—what words? But no, you are mocking me cruelly! It cannot be that she ever thinks of me! I have too powerful a rival."
"A rival! what rival?" asked Madeleine, in genuine astonishment.
"The Viscount Maurice."
The silken thread snapped in Madeleine's hand.
"You have broken the thread," remarked M. de Bois; "I hope it was not owing to my awkward hold—old—olding."
"No, no," answered Madeleine, hurriedly, and taking the skein out of his hand, but tangling it inextricably as she tried to draw out the threads.