"Why," he began hesitatingly, and brushing his hat with his hand, "why--
perhaps you may have heard from the--that is--I think there is a young
----. Ah, it is you, it is you! I see you once again!" And springing
up, he was at the side of Helen, who at that instant had entered the
room, and now, her eyes downcast, her cheeks blushing, her breast gently
heaving, heard, but answered not that passionate burst of joy.

Startled, Madame Dalibard (her hands firmly grasping the sides of her
chair) contemplated the two. She had heard nothing, guessed nothing of
their former meeting. All that had passed before between them was
unknown to her. Yet there was evidence unmistakable, conclusive: the son
of her despoiler loved the daughter of her rival; and--if the virgin
heart speaks by the outward sign--those downcast eyes, those blushing
cheeks, that heaving breast, told that he did not love in vain!

Before her lurid and murderous gaze, as if to defy her, the two
inheritors of a revenge unglutted by the grave stood, united mysteriously
together. Up, from the vast ocean of her hate, rose that poor isle of
love; there, unconscious of the horror around them, the victims found
their footing! How beautiful at that hour their youth; their very
ignorance of their own emotions; their innocent gladness; their sweet
trouble! The fell gazer drew a long breath of fiendlike complacency and
glee, and her hands opened wide, and then slowly closed, as if she felt
them in her grasp.




CHAPTER IX.