"It appeared to me just now that you spoke to me so kindly, madame."
"Really, mademoiselle, is it necessary that I should weigh every word I utter? Since I take an interest in you, I have, I think, a right to ask you certain questions!"
Scarcely had Clémence uttered these words, than she regretted their severity; first from a praiseworthy return of generosity, and then because she thought by being harsh with her rival she might not learn any more of what she was so anxious to know. In fact, Goualeuse's countenance, just now so open and confiding, became suddenly alarmed. Like the sensitive plant, which, on the first touch, curls up its leaves and withdraws within itself, the heart of Fleur-de-Marie became painfully contracted. Clémence replied, gently, in order that she might not awaken her protégée's suspicions by too sudden a return to a milder tone:
"Really I must repeat that I cannot understand why, having so much to praise your benefactor for, you are left here a prisoner. How is it that, after having returned with all sincerity to the paths of rectitude, you could have been apprehended, at night, in a forbidden place? All this, I confess to you, appears to me very extraordinary. You speak of an oath, which has bound you to silence; but this very oath is so strange!"
"I have spoken the truth, madame—"
"I am sure of that; it is only to see and hear you to be convinced that you are incapable of falsehood; but what is so incomprehensible in your situation makes me the more curious and impatient to have it cleared up; and to this alone must you attribute the abruptness of my language just now. I was wrong, I feel I was, for, although I have no claim to your confidence beyond my anxious desire to be of service to you, yet you have offered to disclose to me what you have not yet told to any person; and I can assure you, my poor girl, that this proof of your confidence in the interest I feel for you touches me very nearly. I promise you to keep your secret most scrupulously, if you confide it to me, and I will do everything in my power to effect what you may wish to have done."
Thanks to this skilful patching up (the phrase will be excused, we trust), Madame d'Harville regained La Goualeuse's confidence, which had been for a moment repressed. Fleur-de-Marie, in her candour, reproached herself for having wrongly interpreted the words which had wounded her.
"Excuse me, madame," she said to Clémence; "I was, no doubt, wrong not to tell you at once what you desired to know, but you asked me for the name of my preserver, and, in spite of myself, I could not resist the pleasure of speaking of him."
"Nothing could be more praiseworthy, and it proves how truly grateful you are to him. Tell me how it was that you left the worthy people with whom you were, no doubt, placed by M. Rodolph? Is it to this event that the oath you were compelled to take, refers?"
"Yes, madame; but, thanks to you, I think I may still keep my word faithfully, and, at the same time, inform my benefactors as to my disappearance."