“That does not follow—that is not necessary—but do not look so shocked—everybody goes on the sane way now; besides, I had no other resource—I must have starved—I could not earn my bread as you do. Besides, I was too delicate for hard work of any sort—and besides—but come, let me show you my house—you have no idea how fine it is.”
With anxious ostentation Manon displayed all her riches to excite Victoire’s envy.
“Confess, Victoire,” said she at last, “that you think me the happiest person you have ever known.—You do not answer; whom did you ever know that was happier?”
“Sister Frances, who died last week, appeared to be much happier,” said Victoire.
“The poor nun!” said Manon, disdainfully. “Well, and whom do you think the next happiest?”
“Madame de Fleury.”
“An exile and a beggar!—Oh, you are jesting now, Victoire—or—envious. With that sanctified face, citoyenne—perhaps I should say Mademoiselle—Victoire you would be delighted to change places with me this instant. Come, you shall stay with me a week to try how you like it.”
“Excuse me,” said Victoire, firmly; “I cannot stay with you, Manon; you have chosen one way of life and I another—quite another. I do not repent my choice—may you never repent yours!—Farewell!”
“Bless me! what airs! and with what dignity she looks! Repent of my choice!—a likely thing, truly. Am not I at the top of the wheel?”
“And may not the wheel turn?” said Victoire.