“I feared—to be—to be a burden to my benefactress,” stammered she.
“You a burden to Mdlle. de Cardoville, that is so rich and good!”
“I feared to be indiscreet,” said the sewing-girl, more and more embarrassed.
Instead of answering his adopted sister, Agricola remained silent, and contemplated her for some moments with an undefinable expression; then he exclaimed suddenly, as if replying to a question put by himself: “She will forgive me for disobeying her.—I am sure of it.”
He next turned towards Mother Bunch, who was looking at him in astonishment, and said to her in a voice of emotion: “I am too frank to keep up this deception. I am reproaching you—blaming you—and my thoughts are quite different.”
“How so, Agricola?”
“My heart aches, when I think of the evil I have done you.”
“I do not understand you, my friend; you have never done me any evil.”
“What! never? even in little things? when, for instance, yielding to a detestable habit, I, who loved and respected you as my sister, insulted you a hundred times a day?”
“Insulted me!”