The painful anger with which La Louve was possessed when she returned to the reality, after having allowed herself to be charmed by the new and wholesome reverie in which, for the first time, Fleur-de-Marie had plunged her, proved the influence of her words on her unfortunate companion. The more bitter were La Louve's regrets when she fell back from this consoling delusion to the horrors of her real position, the greater was La Goualeuse's triumph. After a moment's silence and reflection, La Louve raised her head suddenly, passed her hand over her brow, and rose threatening and angry.
"See, see! I had reason to mistrust you, and to desire not to listen to you, because it would turn to ill for me! Why did you talk thus to me? Why make a jest of me? Why mock me? And because I have been so weak as to say to you that I should like to live in the depths of a forest with my man. Who are you, then, that you should make a fool of me in this way? You, miserable girl, don't know what you have done! Now, in spite of myself, I shall always be thinking of this forest, the house, and—and—the children—and all that happiness which I shall never have—never—never! And if I cannot forget what you have told me, why, my life will be one eternal punishment,—a hell,—and that by your fault! Yes, by your fault!"
"So much the better! Oh, so much the better!" said Fleur-de-Marie.
"You say, so much the better!" exclaimed La Louve, with her eyes glaring.
"Yes,—so much the better! For if your present miserable life appears to you a hell, you will prefer that of which I have spoken to you."
"What is the use of preferring it, since it is not destined for me? What is the use of regretting that I walk the streets, since I shall die in the streets?" exclaimed La Louve, more and more irritated, and taking in her powerful grasp the small hand of Fleur-de-Marie. "Answer—answer! Why do you try to make me desire that which I cannot have."
"To desire an honest and industrious life is to be worthy of that life, as I have already told you," replied Fleur-de-Marie, without attempting to disengage her hand.
"Well, and what then? Suppose I am worthy, what does that prove? How much the better off will that make me?"
"To see realised what you consider as a dream," answered Fleur-de-Marie, in a tone so serious and full of conviction that La Louve, again under control, let go La Goualeuse's hand, and gazed at her in amazement.
"Listen to me, La Louve," said Fleur-de-Marie, in a voice full of feeling; "do you think me so wicked as to excite such ideas and hopes in you, if I were not sure that, whilst I made you blush at your present condition, I gave you the means to quit it?"