"And you come, like me, to see some one in prison?"
"Yes—I came—I came to see some one," answered Fleur-de-Marie, stammering and blushing with shame.
"And you are returning home, far from Paris, without doubt. Dear little Goualeuse, always good, I recognize you there. Do you remember the poor woman to whom you gave your mattress, linen, and the small amount of money you had, which we were about to spend in the country? for then you were crazy after the country, you little village girl!"
"And you did not like it much, Rigolette. How kind you were, for it was on my account you went."
"And for mine also; for you, who were always a little serious, became so contented, gay, and lively, once in the midst of the fields or woods; if it were only to see you there, it was pleasure to me. But let me look at you again! How this little round cap becomes you! how pretty you look. Decidedly, it was your vocation to wear a peasant's cap, as it was mine to wear the grisette's. Now you are according to your wishes, you must be happy, it does not surprise me. When I did not see you any more, I said to myself, 'Good little Goualeuse is not made for Paris; she is a real flower of the forest, as the song says, and these flowers cannot live in the capital; the air is not good enough for them. La Goualeuse has got a place with some good people in the country.' This is what you have done, is it not?"
"Yes," said Fleur-de-Marie, blushing.
"Only I have a reproach to make you."
"To me?"
"You should have advised me; one does not leave in this way, at least, without sending some word."
"I—I left Paris so quick," said Fleur-de-Marie, more and more confused, "that I could not."