Raphael went to sit beside her, flushed, confused, and happy; he looked at her in silence.
“Why did you leave us then?” she asked, dropping her eyes as the flush deepened on his face. “What became of you?”
“Ah, I have been very miserable, Pauline; I am very miserable still.”
“Alas!” she said, filled with pitying tenderness. “I guessed your fate yesterday when I saw you so well dressed, and apparently so wealthy; but in reality? Eh, M. Raphael, is it as it always used to be with you?”
Valentin could not restrain the tears that sprang to his eyes.
“Pauline,” he exclaimed, “I——”
He went no further, love sparkled in his eyes, and his emotion overflowed his face.
“Oh, he loves me! he loves me!” cried Pauline.
Raphael felt himself unable to say one word; he bent his head. The young girl took his hand at this; she pressed it as she said, half sobbing and half laughing:—
“Rich, rich, happy and rich! Your Pauline is rich. But I? Oh, I ought to be very poor to-day. I have said, times without number, that I would give all the wealth upon this earth for those words, ‘He loves me!’ O my Raphael! I have millions. You like luxury, you will be glad; but you must love me and my heart besides, for there is so much love for you in my heart. You don’t know? My father has come back. I am a wealthy heiress. Both he and my mother leave me completely free to decide my own fate. I am free—do you understand?”