"Oh, I am not mistaken,—my eyes are opened at last. The thin, waxen mask of assumed kindness has melted from her face! I am a burden to her,—an encumbrance,—an offence. She only desires to be rid of me!"
"You,—the fairy of good works in her household? What could she do without you? It is only excitement which makes you imagine this."
"I never guessed, never dreamed it before; but I have wilfully deceived myself. Now all is too clear! A thousand recollections rise up to testify to the truth; a thousand suspicions, which I repulsed as unworthy of me and of her, return to convince me; words and looks, coldness and injustice, slights and reproaches start up with frightful vividness, and throw a hideous light upon conduct I never dared to interpret aright."
"What looks? what words? what actions?" asked Bertha, though her heart told her with what a catalogue she could answer her own question.
"They could not be rehearsed in an hour or in a day. But it is not to my aunt alone that my presence is offensive. Cousin Tristan also chafes at the sight of his dependent relative. I have seen it when I took my seat at table; I have seen it when room was made for me in the carriage; I have seen it on numberless occasions. His glances, his accents, his whole demeanor, have seemed to reproach me for the place I occupied, for the garments I wore, for the very bread I ate,—the bread of bitter, bitter charity! And oh!" she groaned, "must this be so still? Must I still accept these bounties, which are begrudged me? Must I still be bowed to the dust by the weight of these charities? Alas! I must, because I have nothing of my own,—because I am nothing of myself!"
"Madeleine! one of these days"—
Madeleine did not heed her. "Oh, my father! my father! To what torturing humiliations you subjected me in bequeathing me nobility with poverty! Well may you have wished that you had been born a peasant! Had I been a peasant's child, I might have lived by, and rejoiced in, honest labor! Had I been the daughter of a mechanic, I might have gained my bread by some useful trade. Had I even been the child of some poor gentleman, I might have earned a livelihood by giving lessons in music, in drawing, by becoming a governess, or teaching in a school. But, the daughter of the Duke de Gramont, it is one of the curses of my noble birth that I must live upon charity,—charity unwillingly doled out and thrown in my face, even when I am receiving it with meekness!"
"But, Madeleine, if you will but listen to me"—
Madeleine went on bitterly. "And I am young yet,—young and strong, and capable of exertion; and I have dared to believe that, while one is young, some of the benefits received could be repaid by the cheerful spirit of youth,—by the performance of needful offices,—by hands ever ready to serve, and a heart ever open to sympathize; but, if I am an encumbrance, an annoyance while I am young, what an intolerable burden I must become when youth passes away! Then I shall either be repulsed with aversion, or sheltered with undisguised reluctance,—forced to remember every moment that the hospitality I receive is an alms! Oh! it is too horrible! Death would be a thousand times preferable."
"And you can forget how dreadful it would be for us, who love you, to lose you?"