"Go, if you love me! And you—you, at least, do love me!"
"If I love you? I will even leave you to prove that I do; but it is very hard."
Bertha walked slowly away, taking the path that led from the château. In a few moments she paused, turned suddenly, and quickened her steps in the opposite direction, prompted by an impulse to seek Maurice and tell him of Madeleine's grief. Perhaps he might have the power to console her.
Count Tristan had been prevented opening the letters which M. de Bois had delivered. When the two gentlemen reached the château, several visitors were awaiting the count, and their stay was protracted. The instant his guests took their leave, he hastened to the library, which his mother entered at the same moment. He listened impatiently as she briefly recounted the scene which had taken place in the summer-house.
"The time has come when we must put an end to this madness," answered the count; "and I trust that I hold the means in my hands. These are the replies of Madeleine's relations."
He broke one of the seals, and glanced over the contents of the letter, gnawing his under lip as he read.
"Well, my son, what reply?"
"This letter is from M. de Bonneville. He writes that his château is only large enough for his own family,—that it would be a great inconvenience to have any addition to his home circle; and we—I suppose we have not been inconvenienced for the last three years"—
"I am not astonished at such a reply from M. de Bonneville. I expected nothing else. Give me Madame de Nervac's letter. She is a charming woman, whom every one admires and respects, and I know her kindness of heart."