"Well, Valentine, to set your mind at rest, once for all, I beg leave to inform you that Michel is not, and never has been, my lover."
A gleam of hope shone in Valentine's eyes, but an instant afterwards she exclaimed, incredulously:
"But, Florence—"
"You know me. I have never lied to any one in my life. Why should I deceive you? Is not Michel free? Am I not free, also? I repeat that he is not, and that he never has been, my lover. I do not know what may happen in the future, but I am telling you the truth about the present as well as the past. Is it possible, Valentine, that you, who are delicacy itself, do not understand that if I was, or if I had been, Michel's mistress, nothing could be more painful and embarrassing to both you and me than this interview, to which I, at least, have looked forward with such delight?"
"Ah, now I can breathe freely again!" cried Valentine, springing up and embracing her friend effusively. "In spite of the joy I felt at seeing you again, I was conscious of such a dreadful feeling of constraint. I am relieved of a terrible anxiety now."
"A just punishment for having doubted me, my dear. But you ask me to be frank, so I will add that, though Michel and I are not lovers, we adore each other, as much, at least, as two such indolent creatures as ourselves can adore any one."
"So Michel loves me no longer," said Madame d'Infreville, looking searchingly at Florence. "He has forgotten me entirely, then?"
"I think the best way to answer that question is to tell you our story, and—"
"Good Heavens! what was that?" exclaimed Valentine, interrupting her friend.
"What do you mean?" asked Florence, turning her head in the direction in which her friend was looking. "What did you hear?"