‘_Mon ange_, I know I have done wrong, but you must forget and forgive. I came to make amends. Since those days of which I have spoken I also have changed. I am no longer a penniless, nameless Frenchman. I have risen to a position which henceforth I hope to adorn. The divine Muse has entered into my soul. Art is now my adored mistress; the great men and women of the land are pleased, so to speak, to prostrate themselves before me. I offer you a position which thousands would give their lives to fill. _Bien!_ I care nothing for them. I accept their adulation, but I am willing to place you beside me and say to the world, “This charming creature is my wife!”’ What wonderful self-sacrifice!--what condescension! He stood as if expecting her to fall in ecstasy at his feet. She simply stared at him in dumb amazement, till, disgusted at her silence, Gavrolles, who had all his wits about him, spoke again. ‘_Mon Dieu_, but am I not generous!’ he said. ‘I say to you, “Come to me, my wife;” while you think, “Alas! it is too late. I have taken to myself another husband.” Well, that shall make no difference to me. I take the blame of that, since it was I who deceived you. Yes, _mon ange_, I forgive you from my soul! * She looked at him in deepening horror, while she said in a hollow voice-- ‘What of my husband, monsieur?’ ‘_Parbleu_, I had no thought of him. What is he?--a common tradesman, I believe; a dull creature, incapable of comprehending the splendours of a nature like mine; there is no poetry in his soul. He adds up his accounts now; he will add them up when you are gone--that is all!’ Madeline’s face grew even whiter, but her eyes flashed fire. ‘Take care,’ she cried, ‘take care. Say what you like of me, do what you can to me, but don’t dare to put a slight on _him_.’ It was now the Frenchman’s turn to be astonished. For a moment the lackadaisical look of condescension passed completely from his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply. ‘Only this, monsieur, that the gentleman whom you are pleased to denounce as commonplace is as far above you as the sun is above the earth. That after you had tried to destroy me it was he who nobly put out his hand to save me. That sooner than let you bring disgrace and sorrow to him I will make a sacrifice of myself, perhaps of you!’ ‘_Parbleu_, but you are heroic,’ sneered the Frenchman. ‘What I am,’ continued Madeline, ‘I am; thanks to you, and you only. I have been dragged as low almost as the women who nightly walk the streets. Now you come to me and ask me to return to shame and degradation. Your wife I may be, as you say, but sooner than return to you and live with you--in honourable wedlock, as the world would call it--I would destroy myself. I expect no mercy from you. Well, you may do you worst--what that may be I neither know nor care.’ And before the Frenchman could utter a word she turned from him and walked swiftly away.