"No doubt, when none is concerned but ourselves. But in this matter, your husband, our excellent friend Marcel, was also concerned. I therefore fear that, under the circumstances, you have done him great harm in the popular esteem."
"What is it you mean?"
"Oh, my God! Poor dear dame! Do you think I would have made haste to come to you after curfew if my purpose were not to give you charitable advice?"
"I do not question your good intentions. Marcel himself imparted to the funeral of Perrin Macé the solemn character that has been attached to it. He attended it at the head of the councilmen. In that he fulfilled his duty."
"I know that my husband marched after yours, madam," spitefully rejoined the envious woman, "seeing that in his quality of provost, Master Marcel has precedence over all the councilmen.... He is acknowledged by all as the leader."
"Oh, madam! There is no question of rank," cried Marguerite. "I only meant to say that Marcel attended the funeral."
"Yes; but you did not, Dame Marguerite; and people said so. They remarked: 'See, the wife of Master Maillart, the councilman, follows the hearse of Perrin Macé! Oh! Oh! She does not care about custom, not she! She meant, like her husband, to protest with her presence and her tears against the iniquity of the court. How, then, does it happen that the wife of the first magistrate remains at home? Can it be that Master Marcel takes the action of the Regent and court less to heart than he pretends? Can it be that, as the proverb puts it, he is trying to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds? Is he secretly laying the pipes for a reconciliation between himself and the court? Can Master Marcel contemplate betraying the people?'"
"Oh! That's infamous!" cried out Denise, unable to control her indignation. "To dare accuse Master Marcel of treason because his wife did not attend the funeral procession and parade an affected sorrow!"
"Denise!" Marguerite quickly called out to the impetuous young girl, fearing the conversation, puerile in appearance, would take a still more acrid turn, and entail dangerous results for Marcel.
It was too late. Rising, Dame Petronille addressed Denise in a bitter tone: "Listen, learn, my friend, that my pain, no less than my husband's, was not affectation!"