“You bear me no ill-will, at least, Louise?” cried Montalais, pressing her hand.
“And why should I, my dear Aure?” replied the girl in a voice soft as a flute.
“Dame!” resumed Madame de Saint-Remy; “if she did bear you a little ill-will, poor girl, she could not be much blamed.”
“And why should she bear me ill-will, good gracious?”
“It appears to me that she is of as good a family, and as pretty as you.”
“Mother! mother!” cried Louise.
“Prettier a hundred times, madame—not of a better family; but that does not tell me why Louise should bear me ill-will.”
“Do you think it will be very amusing for her to be buried alive at Blois, when you are going to shine at Paris?”
“But, madame, it is not I who prevent Louise following me thither; on the contrary, I should certainly be most happy if she came there.”
“But it appears that M. Malicorne, who is all-powerful at court——”