"Nicholas," (how I loved to hear her pronounce my name) "Nicholas, I have heard from my mother of your great generosity. You had helped us without ever telling me, and then paid again to stop my mother's anxiety, and again to stop mine. Oh! I am ashamed,—humbled, that I have been as I have been to you, forgive me, forgive me, I ask you to from my heart."
"I have nothing to forgive child. Come let us sit down and talk everything over," and I sank into the sofa and she came beside me.
She would not look at me, however, but her little face was gentle and shy. "I cannot understand though why you did all that. I cannot understand anything about it all.—You do not love me.—You only wanted me for your secretary, and yet you paid over a hundred thousand francs! The generosity is great."
I gazed and gazed at her.
"And you hate me," I said as coolly as I could "and let me buy you, so that you could save your family.—Your sacrifice was immense."
Suddenly she looked straight up at me, her eyes filled with passion, so that wild fire kindled in my blood.
"Nicholas,—I do not hate you."
I took both her hands and drew her to me, while outside in the street they were singing the Marseillaise and yelling for joy.
"Alathea, tell me the truth, what then do you feel?"
"I don't know. I wanted to murder Suzette. I could have drowned Coralie.—Perhaps you can tell me,—here in your arms—!"