The expression of Sophie Dutertre's gratitude was sincere.
At the same time, the marquise observed a sort of constraint in the gestures and gaze of her friend. Her countenance did not seem as serene and radiant as she hoped to see it, at the announcement of such welcome news.
Another grief evidently weighed upon Madame Dutertre, so, after a moment's silence, Madeleine, who had been watching her closely, said:
"Sophie, you are hiding something from me; your sorrow is not at an end."
"Can you think so, when, thanks to you, Madeleine, our future is as bright, as assured, as yesterday it was desperate, when—"
"I tell you, my poor Sophie, you still suffer. Your face ought to be radiant with joy, and yet you cannot disguise your grief."
"Could you believe me ungrateful?"
"I believe your poor heart is wounded, yes, and this wound is so deep that it is not even ameliorated by the good news I brought you."
"Madeleine, I implore you, leave me; do not look at me that way! It pains me. Do not question me, but believe, oh, I beseech you, believe that never in all my life will I forget what we owe to you."
And with these words, Madame Dutertre hid her face in her hands and burst into tears.