A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra’s feet could not have astonished her more than this revelation.
“What matter is it to them?” she asked, naively.
“Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it is immoral.”
“And you, Laure, what do you say?”
The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their thoughts united. Laure could no longer keep back her tears; she flung herself on her friend’s breast and sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio.
“Mademoiselle Ginevra,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have finished my picture! it is now being varnished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? Where are the young ladies; are they taking a holiday, or are they in the country?”
Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, and went away.
“The studio has been deserted for some days,” replied Ginevra, “and the young ladies are not coming back.”
“Pooh!”
“Oh! don’t laugh,” said Ginevra. “Listen: I am the involuntary cause of the loss of your reputation—”