the matter?
Can I do nothing? I cannot bear to see you cry like this!"

Gradually the hysteric emotion spent itself, and Madame Patoff grew more
calm. Then she spoke, and, to Hermione's amazement, she spoke
connectedly.

"Hermione, you must not betray my secret,--you will not betray me? Swear
that you will not, my child!" She was evidently suffering some great
emotion.

"Aunt Annie," said Hermione in the greatest excitement, "you are not
mad! I always said you were not!"

Madame Patoff shook her head sorrowfully.

"No, child, I am not mad,--I never was. I am only unhappy. I let them
think so, because I am so miserable, and I can live alone, and perhaps
die very soon. But you have found me out."

Again it seemed as though she would burst into tears. Hermione hastened
to reassure her, not knowing what she said, in the anxiety of the
moment.

"You are safe with me, aunt Annie. I will not tell. But why, why have
you deceived them all so long, a year and a half,--why?"

"I am the most wretched woman alive," moaned Madame Patoff. Then,
looking suddenly into Hermione's eyes, she spoke in low, distinct tones.
"You cannot marry Paul, Hermione. You must never think of it again. You
must promise me never to think of it."

"I will not promise that," answered the young girl, summoning all her
courage. "It is not true that he killed his brother. You never believed
it,--nobody ever believed it!"

"It is true--true--truer than anything else can be!" exclaimed Madame
Patoff, lowering her voice to a strong, clear whisper.

"No," said Hermione. "You are wrong, aunt Annie; it is an abominable
lie."

"I tell you I know it is true," retorted her aunt, still whispering, but
emphasizing every word with the greatest decision. "If you do not
believe it, go to him and say, 'Paul, where is your brother?' and you
will see how he will look."

"I will. I will ask him, and I will tell you what he says."

"He murdered him, Hermione," continued Madame Patoff, not heeding the
interruption. "He murdered him in Constantinople,--he and a Turkish
soldier whom he hired. And now he has come here to marry you. He thinks
I am mad--he is the worst man that ever lived. You must never see him
again. There is blood on his hands--blood, do you hear? Rather than that
you should love him, I will tell them all that I am a sane woman. I will
confess that I have imposed upon them in order to be alone, to die in
peace, or, while I live to mourn for my po