I then told my tale, and I saw she was moved.
“I have always tried,” she said, “never to believe evil except on compulsion, nevertheless, knowing as I do the weakness of the human heart, I could never have believed that throughout so long and intimate an acquaintance you could have kept yourself so severely within bounds. In my opinion there would be much less harm in a kiss than in all this scandal.”
“I am sure that Armelline does not care about it.”
“She does nothing but weep.”
“Her tears probably spring from vanity, or from the cause her companions assign for my absence.”
“No, I have told them all that you are ill.”
“What does Emilie say?”
“She does not weep, but she looks sad, and says over and over again that it is not her fault if you do not come, thereby hinting that it is Armelline’s fault. Come tomorrow to oblige me. They are dying to see the opera at the Aliberti, and the comic opera at the Capronica.”
“Very good, then I will breakfast with them to-morrow morning, and to-morrow evening they shall see the opera.”
“You are very good; I thank you. Shall I tell them the news?”