There remained barely time to regain her self-control, and to compose her features. She profited by it.
She had her sweetest smile upon her lips as she greeted Marie-Anne. Still she was embarrassed; she did not know what excuse to give for her visit, and to gain time she pretended to be quite out of breath.
“Ah! it is not very easy to reach you, dear Marie-Anne,” she said, at last; “you live upon the summit of a veritable mountain.”
Mlle. Lacheneur said not a word. She was greatly surprised, and she did not attempt to conceal the fact.
“Aunt Medea pretended to know the road,” continued Mlle. Blanche, “but she led me astray; did you not, aunt?”
As usual, the impecunious relative assented, and her niece resumed:
“But at last we are here. I could not, my dearest, resign myself to hearing nothing from you, especially after all your misfortunes. What have you been doing? Did my recommendation procure for you the work you desired?”
Marie-Anne could not fail to be deeply touched by this kindly interest on the part of her former friend. So, with perfect frankness, and without any false shame, 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.
But Mlle. Blanche was not listening. A few steps from her stood the flowers brought from Sairmeuse; and their perfume rekindled her anger.
“At least,” she interrupted, “you have here what will almost make you forget the gardens of Sairmeuse. Who sent you these beautiful flowers?”