Until now Bruno himself had not guessed her secret. He had regarded her as a kind and faithful friend--nothing more. At the same time he felt that he had betrayed his secret, and he too was confused and silent. Neither dreamed of speaking, and but this one thought possessed their minds: “I have proclaimed my unrequited love to the world.” About to go away, Sidonie raised her eyes and saw Bruno’s sad, despairing face. Pity filled her soul. “You are unhappy, Bruno,” she tenderly said, extending her hand in sympathy, at whose readiness the astonished Bruno burst into sobs. The pretty little cripple’s heart sank and tear-drops wet her long lashes. “Oh, why--why do you love her so much?” she asked bitterly. Bruno understood the reproach and jealousy that prompted the question. “Can I help it?” he said impulsively. “Am I the master of my own heart?” “You are bewitched,” she replied, with a shudder. “Yes, there are moments when I feel powerless.” “You wish, then, you were free from this thraldom? You wish that you had never met her?” “I do indeed. But since I know her I must love her.” Sidonie was again tempted to go. It was agony to hear him speak thus of another. And yet how cowardly to run away! No, she must summon the courage to endure it. “My good Sidonie,” continued Bruno, “how patient you are--how sympathetic.” “How long have you loved her?” ventured Sidonie. “Even before she married Savin. But I never dared to tell her so. It was like this, Sidonie: One day I was fishing in the Trinquelin brook and she came down in the neighboring field. Let me see, that was four months previous to the death of her father--and you know as well as I that Monsieur d’Angerolles was never guilty of crime. The accusation against him was all a network of lies.” “Well, well, go on,” insisted Sidonie. “She came into the meadow, as I said, and we joked together over the fence, and finally she said she would try her luck at fishing for a while. We cut some willow rods, and taking the bait and tackle we proceeded along the stream, at intervals casting our lines in little babbling pools and watching, with interest, for a bite.” “And were you successful?” “No. In the places where I cast there did not appear the sign of a fish.” “And Catherine?” “Nearly every time her bait was taken, and I helped her unhook at least a dozen fish.” “I tell you, Bruno, she has a sorcerer’s power----” “No, no. She had in her pocket a little bottle of pistachio, belonging to her father, and she put some of the essence on the frog bait, without my knowing it. You know pistachio attracts crabs.” “And were you not jealous of her success?” “No. I was only ashamed of my failure.” “And what did she say?” “She only laughed. We went on down the stream, and had a merry time; but, Sidonie, promise that you will never repeat what I tell you.” “Is it, then, so bad?” “No; but I do not wish it to be known. If it should get back to Catherine she might be offended.”