‘It is false. I am not your wife.’
‘No? Then this little writing lies.’
As he spoke he drew forth a paper and waved it carelessly in the air.
‘Ah, my dear Madeline, there was once a time when you would joyfully have received the news I bring you to-day. You did not always scorn the thought of being madame my lady!’
‘You are right, monsieur,’ answered Madeline. ‘There was once a time when the news which you bring me today would have been welcome to me, but thank God that time has gone, and I am changed!’
‘Yes,’ he returned quietly, ‘you are changed, as you say; so also am I. At that period of my career to which you allude I was not perfect, and, pardon me for saying so, Madeline, neither were you. I confess with all humility that I told lies, and we both showed temper, but—nous avons changé tout cela! I come to-day to tell you the truth, and to offer you your rightful home.’
Again he moved as if to approach her. Again she shrank away.
‘It is not the truth,’ she returned vehemently; ‘I refuse to believe you! You told me the truth once, but you are lying to me to-day!’
Again his face darkened, but when he spoke his voice was as sweet as it had been before.
‘Your judgment is harsh, chérie, but I have without doubt deserved it—that being so, I bear it with patience. I say to you that I lied to you before; therefore I must not expect you to believe me now. Before I could not prove the truth of my statement, but that is all changed at last!’