“Edmée’s face had grown more and more melancholy as Madame Germain went on speaking, till at last she dropped it in her hands, and, leaning her head on her friend’s knees, burst into a fit of sobbing. She did not cry loudly or wildly, but Madame Germain, laying her hand on her shoulders, felt how the child shook all through, and was startled at the effect of her words.
”‘My child, my precious little lady,’ she said, ‘do not take it so to heart. Be brave, my Edmée. Think how it will trouble your dear mamma if she sees you so unhappy. For it is for your sake my lady is doing this—for your good—that you may grow up all that she and the good Count hoped you would.’
“Edmée raised her tear-stained face.
”‘I don’t mean to be naughty,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to go to Paris. I want to stay here, among my own people. In Paris no one will love us; it will all be full of strangers, who care for us no more than we care for them. Here in my own Valmont I know every face. I never walk down the village street without every one smiling at me. Oh! mamma Germain, I shall feel starved and cold among strangers, and I shall choke to be in a town among houses and walls—no longer my dear gardens and park, and trees and fields, and all the lovely country.’
”‘But that is selfish, Edmée, my child,’ said her kind friend. ‘If your dear mother can make up her mind to do it—for to her it is perhaps even more painful than to you—for your sake, you at least should be grateful to her, and do your best to show her you are so. In after years, if you never saw anything of the world but your little Valmont, you might regret your ignorance—might even reproach your friends for having shut you up in this corner. And you will come back again. It is not for always you are going away.’
”‘No, indeed, that is my only comfort,’ said Edmée. ‘I will try to learn all my lessons as fast and well as ever I can, so that little mother will soon see there is no need to stay longer in Paris, and we will come back, never again to leave our dear Valmont. Will not that be a good plan, mother Germain?’
”‘Excellent!’ said the good woman, delighted to see that the child had taken up this idea; ‘that will certainly be much better than crying.’
”‘Though,’ continued Edmée, ‘I shall not like Paris—I have a sort of fear of it. I think there must be many cruel people there. That Victorine—do you remember her, mamma Germain?—she told me things I hardly understood, about the way people live there—how the rich despise the poor, and the poor hate the rich. And sometimes she would shake her head and say, “Ah, one would live to see many things changed—she herself might be a great lady yet; but if she were a great lady she could know how to enjoy herself—she would not choose for her friends common peasants.” That she said to vex me, you know.’
”‘Ah yes, she was not a nice girl,’ said Madame Germain.
”‘And she is still with my aunt, the Marquise,’ went on Edmée. ‘I do not want to see her again. I hope mamma will take Nanette. I should not like Victorine to have anything to do for me.’ She remained silent for a moment, then looking up suddenly, ‘Mother Germain,’ she said, ‘does Pierre, my poor Pierrot, does he know about our going away?’