“Hear him, merciful powers! he says that I, who am all his, do not love him.”

“Then why cast aside our only chance of safety?”

“Norbert, dearest Norbert!”

“I understand you too well; you are alarmed at the idea of the world’s censure, and——­”

He paused, checked by the gleam of reproach that shone in Diana’s eyes.

“Must it be so?” said she; “must I condescend to justify myself?  You talk to me of the world’s censure?  Have I not already defied it, and has it not sat in judgment upon me?  And what have I done, after all?  Every act and word that has passed between us I can repeat to my mother without a blush rising to my cheek; but would any one credit my words?  No, not a living soul.  Most likely the world has come to a decision.  My reputation is gone, is utterly lost, and yet I am spotless as the driven snow.”

Norbert was half-mad with anger.

“Who would dare to treat you with anything save the most profound respect?” said he.

“Alas! my dear Norbert,” replied she, “to-morrow the scandal will be even greater.  While your father was talking to me with such brutal violence and contempt, he was overheard by a woodcutter and perhaps by some of his companions.”

“It cannot be.”

“No, it is quite true,” returned Daumon.  “I had it from the man myself.”

Mademoiselle de Laurebourg shot one glance at the Counsellor; it was only a glance, but he comprehended at once that she wished to be left alone with her lover.

“Pardon me,” said he, “but I think I have a visitor, and I must hinder any one from coming in here.”

He left the room as he spoke, closing the door noisily behind him.

“And so,” resumed Norbert when alone, “it seems that the Duke de Champdoce did not even take the ordinary precaution of assuring himself that you were in privacy before he spoke as he did, and was so carried away by his fury that he never thought that in casting dishonor upon you, he was heaping infamy on me.  Does he think by these means to compel me to marry the heiress whom he has chose for me, the Mademoiselle de Puymandour?”

For the first time Diana learned the name of her rival.

“Ah!” moaned she between her sobs, “so it is Mademoiselle de Puymandour that he wants you to marry?”

“Yes, the same, or rather her enormous wealth; but may my hand wither before it clasps hers.  Do you hear me, Diana?”

She gave a sad smile and murmured, “Poor Norbert!”

The heart of the young man sank; so melancholy was the tone of her voice.

“You are very cruel,” said he.  “What have I done to deserve this want of confidence?”

Diana made no reply, and Norbert, believing that he understood the reason why she refused to fly with him, said, “Is it because you have no faith in me, that you will not accompany me in my flight?”

“No; I have perfect faith in you.”