"Yes, mademoiselle; it was that which enabled Monsieur Serdan to discover the loftiness of your sentiments and the grandeur of your nature."
"The oddness of our meeting has caused you extreme surprise; is it not true, monsieur? Well, imagine what my feeling must have been when, at The Hague, I, Bertha of Plouernel," the young girl proceeded, fixing her beautiful eyes upon Nominoë, "learned that he who had saved my life, and who, subsequently, at the price of his blood, saved my honor, was descended from that very family to whom mine had so much to atone for—when I discovered that my savior's heart was as great as his courage—when it was granted to me to know—to appreciate you."
The accents of Mademoiselle Plouernel's voice, and the expression of her face as she uttered these last words, denoted such tenderness, such nobility, such affection—the silence into which she immediately relapsed seemed so significant to Nominoë, that a sudden thought flashed through his mind. Despite his own modesty, despite his diffidence in himself, despite the seemingly insane improbability of the hope that caused his heart to bound—he believed himself loved. The intoxication of bliss emboldened him. In a tremulous voice he cried:
"And you, mademoiselle, imagine what my feelings must be at this moment, when I hear you recall to my memory the running conflict between our two families across the ages—and then to hear you pronounce the words of atonement and reparation! In what can that reparation consist? Despite myself—an insane hope enters my heart. Alas! I know but too well that my hope is insensate! Pronounce my sentence!"
"What do you hope?" asked Bertha in a firm voice.
"No; I should never have the courage to tell you—I dread to arouse your just disdain—your mockery—your anger—"
"If I could disdain you, would I now be near you? The future of us both is too somber for me to think of mocking! You promised sincerity to me."
Nominoë grew paler than he was before; he lowered his head; he murmured in a trembling, desperate, passionate voice:
"I love you! I love you to distraction!"
"I also, Nominoë, love you!" answered Mademoiselle Plouernel solemnly. "Yes," she proceeded, holding her head high, and serene; "I love you—with all my soul—I fear not to make the admission."