“It is true that my name is Marguerite, sir,” she replied, with dignity; “but I could not imagine that word was addressed to me by a person whom I have the honor of knowing.” “But I know you!” exclaimed Paul, going nearer to her, and then closing the door he brought her back into the room. “I know that you are unhappy, that you have not one friendly heart into which you can pour your sorrows, not one arm from which you can ask support.” “You forget the one which is on high,” replied Marguerite, raising her eyes and hand toward heaven. “No, no, Marguerite, I do not forget, for it is He who sends me to offer you that which you most need; to tell you when all lips and all hearts are closed toward you, ‘I am your friend, devotedly, eternally.’” “Oh! sir!” replied Marguerite, “these are sacred and solemn words which you have uttered; words, unfortunately, to which it would be difficult for me to give credence without proofs.” “And should I give you one?” said Paul. “Impossible!” murmured Marguerite. “Irrefragable!” continued Paul. “Oh! then!” exclaimed Marguerite, with an indescribable accent, in which doubt began to give place to hope-- “Well! and then”-- “Oh! then--but no, no!” “Do you know this ring?” said Paul, showing her the one with the key that opened the bracelet. “Gracious heaven!” exclaimed Marguerite, “have mercy upon me! he is dead!” “He lives.” “Then he no longer loves me.” “He loves you!” “If he be living--if he still love me--oh! I shall go mad--what was it I was saying? If he be living--if he still love me, how comes it that this ring is in your possession?” “He confided it to me as a token of recognition.” “And have I confided this bracelet to any one?” cried Marguerite, pushing back the sleeve of her gown--“Look!” “Yes, but you, Marguerite, you are not proscribed--dishonored, in the eyes of the whole world--thrown amongst a condemned race!” “Of what importance is that. Is he not innocent?” “And then, he thought,” continued Paul, wishing to discover the extent of the devotedness and love of his sister, “he thought that delicacy required, banished as he is for ever from society, that he should offer you, if not restore to you, the liberty of disposing of your hand.” “When a woman has done for a man that which I have done for him,” replied Marguerite, “her only excuse is to love him eternally, and it is that I mean to do.” “Oh! you are an angel!” exclaimed Paul. “Tell me!” rejoined Marguerite, seizing the young man’s hands, and looking at him with a supplicating air-- “What?” “Have you seen him, then?” “I am his friend, his brother.” “Speak to me of him, then?” she exclaimed, giving herself up entirely to the recollection of her lover, and forgetting that it was the first time she had seen the person to whom she was addressing questions of so delicate a nature. “What is he doing? what hope has he? Poor, unhappy man!” “He loves you--and he hopes again to see you.”