"How glad I am to see you, dear child," said Mme. de Bricourt, embracing Corinne affectionately. "How charming you look to-day. Your hair is arranged so artistically and becomingly. Do you know I am worried to death over these slanders about our poor, dear Odette. We must find some way to defend her, or her reputation will be ruined for ever. What can we do to save her?" She raised her eyes to heaven as if calling it to witness to the purity and loyalty of her heart. Fortunately heaven usually refuses to testify in such cases. Corinne had assumed an air of dumb consternation that relieved her from the responsibility of replying.
"This love affair between Odette and Claude, is whispered about on all sides. Of course, we do not believe in it; but all agree in saying that there must be some fire where there is so much smoke. We must do some thing, dearest Corinne, to save Odette, before it is too late. We must sacrifice every thing to friendship; but, what can we do?"
"I am sure I do not know!"
"I thought perhaps you might tell her what people are saying about her; skilfully, you know, concealing the worst, perhaps. What could be more natural than for you to do so—two friends of about the same age."
Corinne smiled at this pleasant little fiction in regard to their age being the same, but replied:
"I do not think that would have the least effect, Odette is so wilful and determined."
"Yes, I am afraid you are right. She would naturally be indignant and deny every thing. But if we could only let her husband know in some way of the disgrace hanging over his name."
Corinne's eyes sparkled. She had never forgiven Paul his desertion of her for Odette, at Carqueirannes; and here was an opportunity for revenge, both on him and on Odette.
Mme. de Bricourt continued: "He will never know, unless some accident or some devoted friend opens his eyes. If I were young and charming like you, dear child, I would not delay an instant in informing him of these slanders, so that he could refute them. I am too old to undertake the task. My fingers are not delicate enough to pour the balm into the wound; but you, dear Corinne, your gentle sympathy would heal the blow as it was made."