“That is no answer, monsieur; I have been surprised into being influenced by a stranger, and now—­”

“Do you want my biography, what I have been, what I am, and what I may be?  What difference does it make to you?  I told you that I would save you; the main point is that I am saving you.”

“Still I have the right to ask by what means you are saving me.”

“What good will it do you to know what my plans are?”

“In order to decide whether I will accept or reject them?”

“But suppose I guarantee success?”

“That is not sufficient, monsieur.  I do not choose to be any longer deprived of my own free will, to be exposed without warning to trials like those I have undergone to-day.  A man of my age must know what he is doing.”

“A man of your age, Prosper, when he is blind, takes a guide, and does not undertake to point out the way to his leader.”

The half-bantering, half-commiserating tone of M. Verduret was not calculated to calm Prosper’s irritation.

“That being the case, monsieur,” he cried, “I will thank you for your past services, and decline them for the future, as I have no need of them.  If I attempted to defend my honor and my life, it was because I hoped that Madeleine would be restored to me.  I have been convinced to-day that all is at an end between us; I retire from the struggle, and care not what becomes of me now.”

Prosper was so decided, that M. Verduret seemed alarmed.

“You must be mad,” he finally said.

“No, unfortunately I am not.  Madeleine has ceased to love me, and of what importance is anything else?”

His heart-broken tone aroused M. Verduret’s sympathy, and he said, in a kind, soothing tone: 

“Then you suspect nothing?  You did not fathom the meaning of what she said?”

“You were listening,” cried Prosper fiercely.

“I certainly was.”

“Monsieur!”

“Yes.  It was a presumptuous thing to do, perhaps; but the end justified the means in this instance.  I am glad I did listen, because it has enabled me to say to you, Take courage, Prosper:  Mlle. Madeleine loves you; she has never ceased to love you.”

Like a dying man who eagerly listens to deceitful promises of recovery, although he feels himself sinking into the grave, did Prosper feel his sad heart cheered by M. Verduret’s assertion.

“Oh,” he murmured, suddenly calmed, “if only I could hope!”

“Rely upon me, I am not mistaken.  Ah, I could see the torture endured by this generous girl, while she struggled between her love, and what she believed to be her duty.  Were you not convinced of her love when she bade you farewell?”

“She loves me, she is free, and yet she shuns me.”

“No, she is not free!  In breaking off her engagement with you, she was governed by some powerful, irrepressible event.  She is sacrificing herself—­for whom?  We shall soon know; and the secret of her self-sacrifice will discover to us the secret of her plot against you.”