“Aunt Medea pretended to know the road,” continued Blanche; “but she led me astray. Didn’t you aunt?”
As usual the impecunious relative assented, and her niece resumed: “But at last we are here. I couldn’t resign myself to hearing nothing about you, my dear, especially after all your misfortunes. What have you been doing? Did my recommendation procure you the work you wanted?”
Marie-Anne was deeply touched by the kindly interest which her former friend displayed in her welfare, and with perfect frankness, she confessed that all her efforts had been fruitless. It had even seemed to her that several ladies had taken pleasure in treating her unkindly.
Blanche was not listening, however. Close by stood the flowers brought from Sairmeuse; and there perfume rekindled her anger. “At all events,” she interrupted, “you have something here which will almost make you forget the gardens of Sairmeuse. Who sent you those beautiful flowers?”
Marie-Anne turned crimson. For a moment she did not speak, but at last she stammered: “They are a mark of attention from the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”
“So she confesses it!” thought Mademoiselle de Courtornieu, amazed at what she was pleased to consider an outrageous piece of impudence. But she succeeded in concealing her rage beneath a loud burst of laughter; and it was in a tone of raillery that she rejoined: “Take care, my dear friend, I am going to call you to account. You are accepting flowers from my fiance.”
“What, the Marquis de Sairmeuse!”
“Yes, he has asked for my hand; and my father has promised it to him. It is a secret as yet; but I see no danger in confiding in your friendship.”
Blanche really believed that this information would crush her rival; but though she watched her closely, she failed to detect the slightest trace of emotion in her face. “What dissimulation!” thought the heiress, and then with affected gaiety, she resumed aloud: “And the country folks will see two weddings at about the same time, since you are going to be married as well, my dear.”
“I married?”