The Marquis entered and found her wiping her eyes. She folded up the letter again and put it unaffectedly back in her pocket, without attempting to conceal her emotion under an assumption of cheerfulness. Nevertheless she remarked a shade of irony upon M. de Villemer's face, which usually was so kind. She looked at him as if asking whom he wanted to ridicule, and he, becoming slightly embarrassed, hesitated for words, and ended by saying quite simply, "You were weeping?"
"Yes," she replied, "but not from sorrow."
"You have received good news?"
"No, a proof of friendship."
"You ought to receive such things frequently."
"There are testimonies more or less sincere."
"You seem to be in a doubting mood to-day; you are not every day so mistrustful."
"No, not every day; I am not naturally distrustful. Are you, M. de Villemer?"
Urbain was always a little startled when questioned directly about himself. It cost him an effort to interrogate others, and to be questioned in return caused him a species of trouble.
"I," he answered, after a moment's hesitation,—"I do not know. I should be very much at a loss how to tell you what I am—at this moment especially."