They
rose with one impulse and moved towards their bench in the garden; but
as they reached the middle of the parlor, the lover could not resist
his joy, and, in a voice that trembled with emotion, he said,--
"I have three hundred thousand francs of yours."
"What!" she cried, "did my poor mother entrust them to you? No? then
where did you get them?"
"Oh, my Marguerite! all that is mine is yours. Was it not you who
first said the word 'ourselves'?"
"Dear Emmanuel!" she exclaimed, pressing the hand which still held
hers; and then, instead of going into the garden, she threw herself
into a low chair.
"It is for me to thank you," he said, with the voice of love, "since
you accept all."
"Oh, my dear beloved one," she cried, "this moment effaces many a
grief and brings the happy future nearer. Yes, I accept your fortune,"
she continued, with the smile of an angel upon her lips, "I know the
way to make it mine."
She looked up at the picture of Van Claes as if calling him to
witness. The young man's eyes followed those of Marguerite, and he did
not notice that she took a ring from her finger until he heard the
words:--
"From the depths of our greatest misery one comfort rises. My father's
indifference leaves me the free disposal of myself," she said, holding
out the ring. "Take it, Emmanuel. My mother valued you--she would have
chosen you."
The young man turned pale with emotion and fell on his knees beside
her, offering in return a ring which he always wore.
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