"Oh, generous heart!" exclaimed Nominoë, touched to tears. "How else could it be, but that, brought up by such a mother, Mademoiselle Plouernel, you should prove worthy of her!" "Never shall I forget her lessons and her example. Finally, at the time that a sudden illness carried my mother away, she and I were on the point of going to Mezlean, in order to visit the leasehold peasant Gildas Lebrenn, who, as I subsequently learned, is your father's brother. That excursion never took place. I lost my mother, I had to leave Brittany. I went to Versailles with my aunt. Perhaps you learned from your friend, Monsieur Serdan, the object that, without my being made privy to the plot, was contemplated by those who were taking me to England?" "Yes, mademoiselle; it was that which enabled Monsieur Serdan to discover the loftiness of your sentiments and the grandeur of your nature." "The oddness of our meeting has caused you extreme surprise; is it not true, monsieur? Well, imagine what my feeling must have been when, at The Hague, I, Bertha of Plouernel," the young girl proceeded, fixing her beautiful eyes upon Nominoë, "learned that he who had saved my life, and who, subsequently, at the price of his blood, saved my honor, was descended from that very family to whom mine had so much to atone for--when I discovered that my savior's heart was as great as his courage--when it was granted to me to know--to appreciate you." The accents of Mademoiselle Plouernel's voice, and the expression of her face as she uttered these last words, denoted such tenderness, such nobility, such affection--the silence into which she immediately relapsed seemed so significant to Nominoë, that a sudden thought flashed through his mind. Despite his own modesty, despite his diffidence in himself, despite the seemingly insane improbability of the hope that caused his heart to bound--he believed himself loved. The intoxication of bliss emboldened him. In a tremulous voice he cried: "And you, mademoiselle, imagine what my feelings must be at this moment, when I hear you recall to my memory the running conflict between our two families across the ages--and then to hear you pronounce the words of atonement and reparation! In what can that reparation consist? Despite myself--an insane hope enters my heart. Alas! I know but too well that my hope is insensate! Pronounce my sentence!" "What do you hope?" asked Bertha in a firm voice. "No; I should never have the courage to tell you--I dread to arouse your just disdain--your mockery--your anger--" "If I could disdain you, would I now be near you? The future of us both is too somber for me to think of mocking! You promised sincerity to me." Nominoë grew paler than he was before; he lowered his head; he murmured in a trembling, desperate, passionate voice: "I love you! I love you to distraction!"