Herminie, thus reassured, felt deeply incensed with herself for her unguarded exclamation, and, blushing deeply, she said to Olivier:
"I trust you will not misinterpret—"
But the natural frankness of her character asserted itself, and she said, with quiet dignity:
"But why should I try to conceal from you something that you know already, M. Olivier. Are you not Gerald's dearest friend, in fact, almost a brother to him? Neither of us have any cause to blush for our mutual attachment. To-morrow, he is to inform his mother of his intentions and ask her consent, which he is almost certain to gain. For why should he not gain it. Our conditions in life are almost identical. He supports himself by his own exertions, as I support myself by mine. Our lot will be humble, and—But, forgive me, M. Olivier, for thus boring you. It is a fault to which all lovers are prone. But as no misfortune has befallen Gerald, what is the important matter that brings you here?"
Herminie's words indicated such a feeling of perfect security that Olivier realised the difficulties of his task even more keenly, and it was with painful hesitation that he replied:
"As I said before, no misfortune has befallen Gerald; but I come to you at his request."
Herminie's face, which had grown quite serene, became anxious again, and she said:
"Pray have the kindness to explain, M. Olivier. You say you have come at Gerald's request? Why is an intermediary needed, even in the person of his most intimate friend? This astonishes me. Why did not Gerald come himself?"
"Because there is something he is afraid to confess to you, mademoiselle."
Herminie started violently; the expression of her face changed, and, looking searchingly at Olivier, she repeated: