"Now, Monsieur Browne," said Madame Bernstein, as she seated herself with her back to the window, "we can talk in comfort, and, what is better still, without fear of being disturbed. It is indeed kind of you to come and see me, for I expect you were considerably surprised at receiving my poor little note yesterday. What you must have thought of it I dare not think; but I must console myself with the reflection, that it was written in the interests of another person, whose happiness is dearer to me than I can make you understand. To tell you the truth, it is a most delicate matter. I think you will admit as much when you have heard what I have to say."
Browne accordingly reserved his judgment. His distrust of the woman, however, was rapidly coming back upon him, and he could not help feeling that, plausible as her words were, and desirous as she appeared to be of helping a third person, she was in some way attempting to deceive himself.
"I beg that you will not consider me at all in the matter," he said, seeing that he was expected to say something. "I am, as you know, only too glad to do anything I can to help you. Perhaps it is regarding Mademoiselle Petrovitch that you desire to speak to me?"
"You have guessed correctly," said madame. "It is about Katherine. The poor child, as I have reason to know, is in terrible trouble just now."
"I am indeed sorry to hear that," said Browne, a fear of he knew not what taking possession of him. "But I hope the trouble is one that can be easily set right."
"It is possible it may," madame replied. "But I think it depends, if you will permit me to say so, in a very great measure upon yourself."
"Upon me?" cried the young man, this time with real surprise. "How can that be? I should never forgive myself if I thought I had made Miss Petrovitch unhappy."
"Not perhaps exactly in the sense you mean," said madame, moving a little nearer him, and speaking in a tone that was low and confidential; "but still you have done so in another way, Monsieur Browne. Before I go any further, however, it is necessary that I should remind you that I am an old woman." Here she smiled a little coquettishly, as if to remind him that her words, in this particular instance, must not be taken too literally. "I am an old woman," she continued—"old enough to be your mother, perhaps; at any rate, old enough to be able to say what I am going to say, without fear of giving offence, or of having my motives misconstrued. Monsieur Browne, as you are well aware, Katherine is only a young girl, and, like other young girls, she has her dreams. Into those dreams you have come, and what is the result? I will leave it to your common-sense, and perhaps a little to your vanity, to read between the lines. Had you been differently situated it would not have mattered. At the time that you rendered her that great service on the mountains above Merok, she had no idea who you were. But later on, when you were so kind to us in London, though you did your best to prevent it, we discovered all about you. Immediately, as is often the way with young girls, a change came. She is simplicity itself. She is also the soul of honour. She feared to let her true soul be seen, lest you might think that we were cultivating your acquaintance for the sake of your wealth."
"I never dreamt of such a thing," Browne replied indignantly. "That is the worst part of being a rich man, Madame Bernstein. One-half of the world preys upon you for your money, while a large number will not be friendly to you lest they may be supposed to be doing the same. I should be a cad of the first water if I had ever thought for a moment, that Miss Petrovitch was capable of such a thing."
From the way he spoke Madame Bernstein saw that she had overshot her mark, and she was quick to make up for her mistake.