Another moment, and she was clasped in the stranger's arms.
"Pauline," he exclaimed, "my beloved, my darling, what magic is this? How is it, that after thirteen weary years I find you here in America?"
"Because I came hither to see you, Armand! But tell me, before I say another word, have you been to France during the past thirteen years?"
"Seven years ago I was in Paris—seven years ago I returned to my native country, wealthy and distinguished, to fling all at the feet of her, whom I dared to hope might still be faithful. A bitter blow awaited me on my arrival."
"Stay, Armand," said Pauline, laying her hand lightly upon her lover's lips; "tell me all, as it occurred from the first."
She pointed to a sofa and seated herself by the side of Armand Tremlay. Upon a table near her lay the bridal wreaths, which were to be worn by herself and Camillia. The Frenchman perceived the floral coronets, and asked eagerly:
"These orange blossoms, Pauline, for whom are they intended?"
"You shall know that by-and-by," she answered, with an arch smile; "not another word, until I have heard your story."
An observer would have wondered at the transformation which the presence of Armand Tremlay effected in Pauline Corsi. She was no longer the cold and ambitious woman, but a loving and gentle girl, with the tender light of affection beaming in her blue eyes.
"Tell me," she repeated; "tell me all, Armand!"