"Who is the lady?" asked Madeline, in a voice scarcely intelligible.
"I really don't know, Ma'am; if I did, I would tell you; but my father never entrusts me with a secret, lest I should blab it; though I am sure I should never think of doing so; and so 'tis only by listening here, and listening there, I ever come to the knowledge of any thing. Poor Henri! my father has also quarrelled with him, because he has rejected this great offer: 'tis a cruel thing to do so; for, to be sure, it is but natural to suppose he would accept it, if he could; but when a person is already in love, what can one do?"
"In love! (repeated Madeline), do you think your brother is in love?"
"Yes, I am sure he is."
"But how sure: did he ever tell you he was?"
"No—but one can easily guess he is, by the alteration in his looks and manner.—Lord, he is grown so pale, and so melancholy, he mopes about the whole day by himself;
