"I have no right to your confidence, my poor child, nor would I ask you any question that would distress you; but, as I am assured that if I request your discharge from prison it will be accorded to me, before I do so I should wish to talk to you of your own plans, your resources for the future. Once free, what do you propose to do? If, as I doubt not, you decide on following the good path you have already entered upon, have confidence in me, and I will put you in the way of gaining an honest subsistence."
La Goualeuse was moved to tears at the interest which Madame d'Harville evinced for her. After a moment's hesitation, she replied:
"You are very good, madame, to show so much benevolence towards me,—so generous, that I ought, perhaps, to break the silence which I have hitherto kept on the past, to which I was forced by an oath—"
"An oath?"
"Yes, madame, I have sworn to be secret to justice, and the persons employed in this prison, as to the series of events by which I was brought hither. Yet, madame, if you will make me a promise—"
"Of what nature?"
"To keep my secret. I may, thanks to you, madame, without breaking my oath, comfort most worthy persons who, no doubt, are excessively uneasy on my account."
"Rely on my discretion. I will only say what you authorise me to disclose."
"Oh, thanks, madame! I was so fearful that my silence towards my benefactors would appear like ingratitude!"
The gentle accents of Fleur-de-Marie, and her well-selected phrases, struck Madame d'Harville with fresh surprise.