knew she could not; and to betray such emotion would be, she was convinced, to confirm in the Countess's mind the suspicions she knew she already entertained of her attachment to de Sevignie; and now to have them confirmed, now, when not a hope remained of their being ever more to each other than friends, she felt would be humiliating and distressing in the extreme.
She attempted however to comply with the request of the Countess, but she faltered in her talk; and, by trying to omit what she wished to conceal, rendered what she would have told almost unintelligible.
The Countess saw and pitied her distress; she pitied, because she guessed the source from whence it proceeded. She was now more convinced than ever, from the dejection of Madeline, her confusion, and a few involuntary expressions that dropped from her, that all hope relative to de Sevignie was over, and,
