“They were going to enlarge on the subject, but I at once changed the conversation, or rather, turned it into a different channel, for their innocent hypocrisy hurt me horribly.

  “I told Amaury all my wishes; of the mission which I had procured for him, and the hope I had entertained of making this pleasure tour one which would prove of use to him in his diplomatic career.

  “He appeared very grateful for what I had done; but just then the dear boy was absorbed by one thought alone, — his great love.

  “When he left, Madeleine accompanied him out of the room.

  “As chance would have it, I was at that moment behind the door, having walked over to fetch a book from one of the small tables. Madeleine did not see me.

  “‘Really, Amaury,’ she said, ‘does it not seem as if circumstances had guessed our wishes, and complied with them? What say you?’

  “‘I think,’ Amaury replied, ‘that evidently we had left ambition out of our calculations, and that it is a mistake to. slander the said quality of ambition. Does it not seem at times as if some faults yield better results than many virtues?’

  “So my daughter will believe that ambition is my reason for staying behind. Well, so be it; perhaps it is just as well.”

  CHAPTER XV.

  FROM this time forward the young people were perfectly happy, and during the next few days everyone appeared smiling and gay; but the minds of two’ out of the four persons concerned were full of anxious thoughts which, when they were alone, found expression on their faces.

  Although Monsieur d’Avrigny was outwardly cheerful, he was none the less very anxious about Madeleine’s state of health, and whenever he could spare a few moments to be with her, he watched her most carefully.

  To all appearances, Madeleine seemed stronger and brighter since the date of her marriage with Amaury had been fixed, but her father, as a medical man, noticed in her appearance unmistakable symptoms of physical and mental disease.

  The colour had returned to her usually pale cheeks, but this hectic flush, which might easily be mistaken for a sign of perfect health, was rather too pronounced, leaving the remainder of her face deadly pale, so that the tracery of blueish veins, scarcely perceptible in others, was plainly visible beneath the girl’s clear transparent skin.

  By everyone but Monsieur d’Avrigny the brilliancy of his daughter’s looks was attributed to youth and love, but to his experienced eye these were but indications of latent fever.

  Throughout the day Madeleine was strong and well, skipping happily about the house or running in and out of the garden like a wild thing.

  But in the morning, before Amaury had arrived, or after he had left in the evening, all this youthful energy, which the advent of her lover alone seemed to rouse, died out in the young girl, and her feeble frame, like a reed borne down by its own weight, needed assistance not merely to walk, but even to rest.

  Besides, she who was usually so sweet- tempered and thoughtful for others, had, during the last week or so, sadly altered. True, this was only with regard to one person. When, two years ago, Monsieur d’Avrigny had brought Antoinette to his house to be a companion to Madeleine, she had welcomed her as a sister, but although Antoinette had never been different to Madeleine, Monsieur d’Avrigny’s watchful eye had perceived that Madeleine had greatly changed towards Antoinette.

  Whenever the young brunette came into the room, with her brilliant colouring, hair black as a raven’s wing, eyes full of life, and her whole appearance betokening youth and health, at once a feeling of pain, which might have been mistaken for one of envy in anyone less angelic than Madeleine, took possession of her, all unknown to herself, and perverted in her mind all her friend’s doings.

  If Antoinette remained in her room, and Amaury asked about her, his friendly inquiry was met by a few stinging words.

  If Antoinette were present, and Amaury allowed his eyes for one moment to rest on her, Madeleine, in a fret, hurried her lover off to the garden.

  If Antoinette were in the garden, and Amaury, without even knowing that Antoinette were there, suggested to Madeleine that they should go into it, she would at once invent some plausible excuse for remaining in the drawing-room, — either the sun was too hot, or the air too chilly.

  In fact, Madeleine, usually so charming and pleasant to everyone, behaved towards her cousin with all the waywardness which a spoilt child shows towards another whom she dislikes, and thinks in her way.

  It is true that Antoinette appeared quite unconscious of all these petty slights, and seemed to think her cousin’s behaviour perfectly natural, although at any other time both her feelings and her pride would have been greatly hurt by Madeleine’s unkindness. On the contrary, it was Antoinette who made excuses for Madeleine’s imaginary wrongs. Antoinette, who was in reality the injured one, seemed to plead for pardon; it was Antoinette who, if Amaury had not yet arrived, or if he had just left, would draw near to Madeleine, who, appearing only then to realize how unkind she had been, and how greatly she had wronged her, would press her hand, and sometimes even throw her arms round her neck, almost ready to cry.

  Was there, then, deep in the hearts of these two young girls, a voice which, unheard by others, spoke to each of them alone?

  Often Monsieur d’Avrigny had tried to explain away Madeleine’s unkindness, but directly he began to speak, Antoinette would smilingly place her finger on his lips and impose silence.

  The day fixed for the ball was approaching; on the evening before, both girls had a long discussion about their gowns, and greatly to Amaury’s surprise, Madeleine seemed to take more interest in her cousin’s dress than in her own.

  At first Antoinette had suggested that Madeleine and she should dress alike, as they usually did, and wear white net over satin. But Madeleine protested that Antoinette looked best in pink, and the other agreed with her at once, and said that she would certainly wear pink; after that nothing further was said on the matter, and everything seemed settled.

  The day following this conversation Amaury and Madeleine spent together, and on that same evening Monsieur d’Avrigny intended to announce to his friends the betrothal of his two children.

  But Amaury, who knew how unaffected his betrothed usually was, could not account for the unusual state of agitation into which Madeleine now threw herself over the slightest thing, and he particularly noticed how excited she was about her dress for the coming evening’s festivities. What could be the matter with her? Did she not know that in his eyes she was invariably the most beautiful of all.

  Amaury left Madeleine at about five o’clock, and was at the house again by seven. He wanted to have her to himself at least for one hour before the other guests arrived, that they might be quite alone and he might feast his eyes on her beauty, and whisper in her ear without fear of what the world might say.

  When Amaury came in Madeleine’s toilette was complete, and there only remained to fasten in her hair a wreath of white camellias, which was lying on a table near by. But she was dissatisfied with her appearance. Her extreme pallor alarmed Amaury; the day had been full of petty annoyances, which had used up her strength, and it was only by a strong effort of will, and much wear and tear of nervous energy, that she was able to compose herself at all.

  Instead of greeting Amaury with her usual bright smile, a movement of impatience escaped her on perceiving him; like himself, she was struck by her own excessive pallor, and said with a bitter smile:

  “You think me very pale to-night, do you not, Amaury? but some days everything seems to go wrong, and it is so to-night. My hair is unbecomingly dressed, my gown a failure, and altogether I look horrid.”

  The unfortunate dressmaker was in the room, and protested it was not so.

  “You look horrid?” said Amaury, “why, Madeleine, it is quite the reverse, your coiffure suits you admirably, your dress is most becoming, you are beautiful and graceful as ever.”

  “Then,” said Madeleine, “evidently the fault is not in my dressmaker, nor my hairdresser, but in myself; it is I who suit neither the arrangement of my hair, nor my dress. My dear Amaury, why have you the bad taste to love me?”

  Amaury drew near to kiss her hand, but although Madeleine was standing in front of the looking-glass, she pretended not to see him, and turning to the dressmaker, pointed out an almost imperceptible crease in her bodice.

  “Just look at that crease, Mademoiselle; you really must alter it, or I warn you that I shall throw this dress aside, and wear the first that comes to hand.”

  “But really, Mademoiselle,” said the poor woman, “it is a mere nothing, and if you wish, I can alter it in a moment; but if so, you must take off the bodice.”

  “Do you hear, Amaury, you must leave us; I must certainly have this disfiguring crease removed.”

  “And you wish me to go, Madeleine? Well! then, I will; I do not wish to be accused of a crime against beauty.”

  And Amaury passed into the adjoining room, whilst Madeleine seemed so taken up with the fit of her gown, that she made no attempt to detain him.

  As the necessary alteration would take but a few moments, Amaury went into the room adjoining Madeleine’s dressing- room, and, to wile away the time, he took up a magazine which was lying on a table.

  But though following the lines with his eyes, the words conveyed no meaning to Amaury’s mind, for, in spite of himself, he listened to what was passing in the next room, from which only a door separated him. Not a word of the reproaches which Madeleine continued to heap on her dressmaker therefore escaped him. he heard everything, even to the impatient tap of her small foot on the oak flooring Just then the door opposite the dressing-room opened and Antoinette appeared. She had followed Madeleine’s advice, and was attired in a simple gown of pink, crêpe de chine, but wore neither flowers jewels, nor ornaments of any kind; it was impossible to be more simply dressed than she was, and yet she looked charming.

  “Oh! are you there?” she said to Amaury, “I did not know it,” and she I turned away.

  “Why are you going away? at least, allow me to compliment you; truly, Antoinette, you look your very best this evening.”

  “Hush! Amaury,” said the young girl, putting her finger to her lips, and lowering her voice, “do not say anything about that.”

  “Who is with you, Amaury?” and, as she spoke, Madeleine opened the door, wrapped in a large cashmere shawl, and she looked at poor Antoinette from head to foot, who hastily turned away.

  “As you see, dear,” replied the young man, “I am with Antoinette, and was just complimenting her on her appearance.”

  “Probably you were as sincere in what you said to her as in what you said to me; it would be much better, Antoinette, if you came and helped me, instead of listening to this idle flatterer.”

  “I have but just entered the room, Madeleine,” the young girl said, “and had I known you wanted me, I should have !come to you sooner.”

  “Who made that dress for you?” Madeleine asked.

  “I made it myself; you know I never trust anyone to do that for me.”

  “You are wise, for no dressmaker could turn you out a gown equal to that.”

  “I offered to make yours too, Madeleine, but you refused.”

  “And who helped you to dress?”

  “No one.”

  “Who dressed your hair?”

  “Why, of course, I did; you can see I have dressed it just as usual.”

  “You are right,” Madeleine said, with an envious smile, “you need nothing to enhance your beauty.”

  Antoinette went up to her cousin, and whispered so low that Amaury could not hear what she said, “Madeleine, if you have any reason for wishing me not to appear at this dance, say but the word, and I will remain in my room.”

  “Why should I deprive you of this pleasure? “Madeleine answered aloud.

  “I do assure you, my dear cousin, this dance is no pleasure to me.”

  “I should have thought,” Madeleine said pettishly, “that whatever is a pleasure to me, would also be one to my friend! Antoinette.”

  “Is the splendour of a ball, with its glitter of lights and sound of music, necessary to make ‘me share your happiness, Madeleine? No! alone in my room, my prayers for you are as sincere as in the gay and crowded throng; but this evening I feel ill.”

  “You ill? “Madeleine cried, “with your bright eyes and flushed cheeks; and what of me, then, with my pale face and heavy eyes?”

  “Will you kindly come, Mademoiselle,” said the dressmaker, “your gown is ready.”

  “You told me I could help you,” Antoinette timidly said, “what can I do?”

  “Oh! do as you like,” Madeleine replied, “I have no orders to give you; come with me if you like, or stay with Amaury, if you prefer it.”

  And she walked back into her dressing- room in such evident ill-humour that it could not escape even Amaury’s notice.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  “HERE I am,” said Antoinette, following her cousin into her boudoir, and closing the door behind her.

  “But what ails her to-day? “Amaury murmured, still looking at the closed door.

  And from behind a voice answered the young man’s question — ” She is ill; all these different emotions drive her into a fever, and this fever is killing her.”

  “Ah! is that you, father?” said Amaury, recognising Monsieur d’Avrigny’s voice; the latter had watched this little scene from behind the portiere.

  “Believe me, I had no intention of implying any blame to Madeleine, but was only questioning myself; I was only afraid I had annoyed her in some way.”

  “No! be consoled, Amaury; you are no more to blame than Antoinette; the fault lies in your being loved too well.”

  “I am thankful, dear father, that you are able to reassure me on this point,” said Amaury.

  “Now,” Monsieur d’Avrigny continued, “promise me one thing; do not tempt her to dance, above all she must not waltz; apart from the square dances, in which you must join, sit out with her and speak of your future life together.”

  “Oh yes! you may trust me to do so.”

  Just then Madeleine’s voice was heard saying impatiently: “Oh! good Heavens! Madame Leroux, how clumsy you are to-day; let Antoinette take your place and get it over.”

  There was a moment’s silence, then she cried: “Well! Antoinette, what are you doing?”

  And the exclamation was accompanied by a sound as of material being torn.

  “Oh! it is nothing,” Antoinette said with a laugh, “only a pin scratching against the satin, that is all. Never fear, — you will still be belle of the ball.”

  “Belle of the ball! oh yes! Antoinette, it is so kind of you to make fun at my expense.”

  “The honour of being belle of the ball will fall to her who is most becomingly dressed, not to me, whom nothing seems to suit.”

  “My dear Madeleine! what are you saying? “Antoinette said reproachfully.

  “I say that it will be time enough when in the ball-room to crow over me as you are doing, and crush me with your conquests and coquettish ways, without following me into my own room. It is ungenerous of you to pursue me here and flaunt your anticipated conquest in my face.”

  “Do you wish me to go?” said Antoinette with tears in her voice.

  Madeleine said nothing; this was the most cruel thing of all, and Antoinette left the room, sobbing bitterly.

  Monsieur d’Avrigny stopped her, whilst Amaury, amazed at the scene, remained motionless in his chair.

  “Come, come, my dear child, my poor Antoinette.”

  “Oh! father dear, I am so unhappy,” the poor girl murmured.

  “That is not what you would mean to say, or what you ought to say,” replied Monsieur d’Avrigny, “you should say that Madeleine is most unjust, but she is not responsible for what she says; the poor child is in a high fever. You must rather pity than blame her; with returning health she will be more reasonable, she will be sorry for her anger and ask your forgiveness.”

  Madeleine heard two voices whispering together, and probably thought that Antoinette and Amaury were talking of her.

  Therefore, pushing open the door, which Antoinette had forgotten to close behind her, she said impatiently: “Amaury!”

  As Amaury rose to obey her summons, she saw that he was alone, whilst Antoinette and her father were talking together at the opposite end of the room; so the two voices she had heard must have been those of Monsieur d’Avrigny and his niece.

  She flushed hotly, whilst Amaury, taking her hand, led her back to her boudoir.

  “In Heaven’s name, my darling,” Amaury said, failing entirely to conceal the real anxiety which he felt, “what is the matter with you? I can no longer recognise in you my sweet Madeleine.”

  At these words from him, all her anger melted away; she threw herself into an armchair and burst into a flood of tears.

  “Oh yes!” she said, “how wicked I am! I know you are thinking so, but you don’t like to tell me. Yes! I have cut dear Antoinette to the heart, and I make you all, the very people I love best, suffer. Why is it I can see no good in anything, not even in inanimate objects? everything hurts me; everything gives me pain; the furniture which I jostle against, the air which I breathe, the words which are said to me; things to which I am indifferent as well as those which I care for most. When everything goes well, and happiness seems almost within my grasp, what is the cause of this bitterness, which wells up in me and spends itself on my surroundings? Why are my irritated nerves at war with all things, daylight and darkness, silence and noise? Sometimes I get fits of deep depression, at others I fly into a passion without cause or reason. If I were ill or unhappy, I might understand myself, but we two are happy, are we not, Amaury dear? Oh! comfort me, repeat to me that we really are happy.”

  “Yes! my own darling; of course we are happy. And why should we not be happy? I love you, and am beloved by you; in one short month we shall belong to each other, be united for ever. What more can any mortals ask of God than the power to arrange their lives according to their own heart’s desire?”