way, and looked
at me no more as she spoke on. "It seems hardly credible that even my
nephew's featherpate should have kept you a month in ignorance of what
so nearly concerns his sister and our whole family. The vicomte is a
charming man, of high polish and noble descent. His estate adjoins ours
on the south. The match was made by my late brother, the father of Yvon
and Valerie, shortly before his death. It had been his cherished plan
for years, ever since Providence removed the vicomtesse to a better
world than this; but Valerie was very young. The matter was arranged
while she was still in the convent, and since then the vicomte has been
travelling, in Russia, India, the world over, and is but just returned.
The betrothal will be solemnised, now, in a few days."

I feared to speak at the moment. I snuffed the candle, and, finding my
hand steady, tried my voice, which had a good strength, though the sound
of it was strange to me.

"Do they--does she know?" I asked.

The lady cleared her throat, and looked--or I fancied it--a trifle
confused. "I have not yet told my niece and nephew. I--the letter came
but this evening. There was a letter also for you, M. D'Arthenay; I
ordered it sent to your room. I think your hands will do well now, and I
need no longer detain you from your friend."

I stood up before her.

"Madam," I said, "permit me a word. I have to thank you for your
kindness, and for the hospitality which I have received under this
kindly roof, whether it were with your will or not. For Mlle. de Ste.
Valerie, I wish her all joy that earthly life can know. If her--if her
husband be one half so noble as herself, she cannot fail of happiness.
It is only a princely nature that should be matched with the purity of
an angel and the goodness of a saint. For myself"--I paused a moment,
finding myself short of breath; but my strength was come back to me. I
sought her eye and held it, forcing her to look at me against her will.
"For myself, I am no noble, though there is good blood in my veins. I am
a plain man, the son of a peasant. But God, madam, who sees your heart
and mine, created, I make bold to remind you, both noble and peasant;
and as that God is above us, you have done bitter wrong to an honest
man. There is no heart of a woman in you, or I would commend to it that
fair young creature, who will need, I think, a woman's tenderness. I
thank you again for your assistance, and I take my leave. And I pray you