"Ah! I understand you at last," said the crafty carpenter, "and I will tell madame what you cannot succeed in explaining to her.—Madame Rose," he continued, turning to Gilberte and resolutely giving her the name of the curé of Cuzion's sister, "you know Mademoiselle Gilberte de Châteaubrun, your young neighbor? Well, monsieur le marquis has a great grudge against her, so it seems; we must believe that she has offended him shamefully; and just as I was going to tell him something about you and Emile——"
"What do you say?" cried the marquis. "Emile?"
"This doesn't concern you," retorted Jean: "I shall tell you nothing more, I am speaking to Madame Rose. Yes, Madame Rose, Monsieur de Boisguilbault detests Mademoiselle Gilberte; he has taken it into his head that you might be she; that is why he wanted to put you out—by the window in preference to the door."
Gilberte felt a mortal distaste for continuing this extraordinary and audacious mystification; for some minutes past, she had been conscious of such a warm feeling of sympathy for the marquis, that she reproached herself for abusing his error and subjecting him to emotions which seemed to make him suffer as keenly as she herself suffered. She determined to disabuse him gradually, and to be bolder than her facetious companion in daring to face the results of Monsieur de Boisguilbault's wrath.
"There is at least one enigma for me in what you tell me," she said with dignified assurance. "I cannot understand how Gilberte de Châteaubrun can be an object of reprobation on the part of a man so just and so worthy of respect as Monsieur de Boisguilbault. As I know nothing of her which can justify such detestation, and as it is important that I should know what to think about her, I beg monsieur le marquis to tell me all the evil that he knows of her, so that she may at least have an opportunity to exculpate herself in the minds of honorable people who know her."
"I should have preferred," said the marquis, with a profound sigh, "that the name of Châteaubrun should not be mentioned before me."
"Is it a name upon which there is any stain, I pray to know," demanded Gilberte, with an irresistible outburst of pride.
"No—no—I never said that," replied the marquis, whose wrath subsided as quickly as it blazed up. "I accuse nobody, I make no reproach against anybody. I am on unfriendly terms with the person mentioned; I do not wish any one to speak of her to me, nor do I speak of her myself—so why ask me useless questions?"
"Useless questions!" echoed Gilberte; "you cannot deem them such, monsieur le marquis. It is very strange that a man like you should be on bad terms with a mere girl, whom he does not know, whom perhaps he has never seen. Surely she must have been guilty of some detestable action or have said some hateful thing about him, and that is what I want to know, that is what I entreat you to tell me: so that, if Gilberte de Châteaubrun deserves neither esteem nor confidence, I may avoid the society of so dangerous a person."
"That's what I call talking!" cried Jean, clapping his hands. "Say on! I too should be very glad to know what to think about her; for this Gilberte has been very good to me; she has given me food and drink when I was hungry and thirsty; she has spun her wool to make clothes for me when I was cold. To my eyes she has always been charitable, gentle, devoted to her parents, and a good girl if ever there was one! Now, if she has committed some shameful sin, I shall be ashamed to be her debtor, and I will never owe her anything more."