"It is true, mademoiselle, that I do not seem to follow your example in this respect," said Ernestine, hesitatingly.
"Ah, well, let me ask you just one question, and pray do not attribute it to mere idle curiosity. Can it be that you do not find among your own relatives the affection you long for?"
"I am an orphan," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a touching voice that Herminie's sympathy increased.
"An orphan!" she repeated; "an orphan! Alas! I understand, for I, too—"
"You, too, are an orphan?"
"Yes."
"How glad I am!" exclaimed Ernestine, naïvely. Then thinking how cruel or, at least, how strange the remark must have sounded, she added:
"Forgive me, mademoiselle, forgive me, but—"
"Ah, I think I read your feelings in my turn," responded Herminie. "Your exclamation simply meant: 'She knows how sad the lot of an orphan is, and she will love me, perhaps. Perhaps in her I shall find the affection I have failed to find elsewhere.' Am I right?" added Herminie, offering her hand in her turn. "Have I not read your thoughts aright?"
"Yes, that is true," replied Ernestine, yielding more and more to the singular charm that pervaded her companion's every word and look. "You have been so kind to me; you seem so honest and sincere that I do indeed long for your affection, mademoiselle. It—it is an ambition only. I dare not call it a hope, for you scarcely know me," concluded Ernestine, timidly.