"But why should I try to conceal from you something that you know already, M. Olivier. Are you not Gerald's dearest friend, in fact, almost a brother to him? Neither of us have any cause to blush for our mutual attachment. To-morrow, he is to inform his mother of his intentions and ask her consent, which he is almost certain to gain. For why should he not gain it. Our conditions in life are almost identical. He supports himself by his own exertions, as I support myself by mine. Our lot will be humble, and--But, forgive me, M. Olivier, for thus boring you. It is a fault to which all lovers are prone. But as no misfortune has befallen Gerald, what is the important matter that brings you here?" Herminie's words indicated such a feeling of perfect security that Olivier realised the difficulties of his task even more keenly, and it was with painful hesitation that he replied: "As I said before, no misfortune has befallen Gerald; but I come to you at his request." Herminie's face, which had grown quite serene, became anxious again, and she said: "Pray have the kindness to explain, M. Olivier. You say you have come at Gerald's request? Why is an intermediary needed, even in the person of his most intimate friend? This astonishes me. Why did not Gerald come himself?" "Because there is something he is afraid to confess to you, mademoiselle." Herminie started violently; the expression of her face changed, and, looking searchingly at Olivier, she repeated: "There is something Gerald is afraid to confess to me?" "Yes, mademoiselle." "It must be something terrible if he dares not tell me," exclaimed the girl, paling visibly. "I meant to have used more precautions, and to have approached the subject in a more roundabout way, mademoiselle," replied Olivier, who was in torture, "but I see that such a course on my part would only serve to prolong your anxiety--" "My God! What am I about to hear?" murmured the young girl, trembling violently in every limb. "Truth is better than falsehood, Mlle. Herminie." "Falsehood?" "In a word, Gerald can no longer endure the false position in which a peculiar combination of circumstances, and his desire to see you, have placed him. His courage has failed him. He has resolved that he will deceive you no longer, and, whatever may come of it, trusting to your generosity, he sends me, I repeat, to tell you what he is afraid to confess himself,--for he knows how bitterly you abhor deceit, and unfortunately Gerald has deceived you." "Deceived me?" "Yes, Gerald is not what he seems to be. You have known him under an assumed name. He has pretended to be what he is not." "My God!" murmured the young girl, in abject terror. A horrible suspicion had assailed her.