“It is we, Armand,” cried a voice that I recognised as that of Prudence.
I came out of my room. Prudence was standing looking around the place; Marguerite, seated on the sofa, was meditating. I went to her, knelt down, took her two hands, and, deeply moved, said to her, “Pardon.”
She kissed me on the forehead, and said:
“This is the third time that I have forgiven you.”
“I should have gone away to-morrow.”
“How can my visit change your plans? I have not come to hinder you from leaving Paris. I have come because I had no time to answer you during the day, and I did not wish to let you think that I was angry with you. Prudence didn’t want me to come; she said that I might be in the way.”
“You in the way, Marguerite! But how?”
“Well, you might have had a woman here,” said Prudence, “and it would hardly have been amusing for her to see two more arrive.”
During this remark Marguerite looked at me attentively.
“My dear Prudence,” I answered, “you do not know what you are saying.”