"Ah!" cried Madame de Castro, "how can I know that I have been generous, or to what extent I am generous now? I am wandering in darkness and at hazard! Besides, it is upon that very point that I wish to question you, Gabriel; for I desire to know my destiny in all its horror."
"Diane, Diane, it is a fatal curiosity!" said Gabriel.
"No matter!" replied Diane, "I will not live in this fearful perplexity and anxiety another day. Tell me, Gabriel, have you become convinced that I am really your sister, or have you absolutely lost all hope of ever learning the truth as to that strange secret? Tell me, I ask,—nay, I implore you!"
"I will tell you," said Gabriel, mournfully. "Diane, there is an old Spanish proverb which says that we must always be prepared for the worst. I have, therefore, accustomed myself, since our parting, to look upon you in my thoughts as my sister. But the truth is that I have obtained no new proof; only, as you say, I have no more hope, no more means of acquiring proof."
"God in Heaven!" cried Diane. "The—he who might furnish these proofs, was he no longer alive when you returned from Calais?"
"He was, Diane."
"Ah, I see, then, that the sacred promise made to you was not redeemed? Who, then, told me that the king had received you with wonderful favor?"
"All that was promised, Diane, was strictly performed."
"Oh, Gabriel, with what an ominous expression you say that! What fearful puzzle still underlies all this, Holy Mother of God!"
"You have asked me, Diane, and you shall know the whole," said Gabriel. "You shall share equally with me in my awful secret. And, indeed, I shall be glad to know what you think of what I am about to disclose to you,—whether, after you have heard it you will still persist in your clemency, and whether your tone and your features and your movements will not in any event belie the words of forgiveness which may come to your lips.—Listen."