Marguerite's voice became very demure.
"Poor grandmamma used to say life was compromise, so I compromised; next morning I did not drink vinegar, and I wore a blush pink bud in my hair. M. le Chevalier was pleased to admire it extravagantly."
Aline ran off laughing, but she was grave enough before she had gone very far, for certainly the situation was not an easy one. She racked her brains for a plan, but could find none; and when she came in, Mlle Marthe's quick eyes at once discerned that something was wrong.
"What is it, child?" she said hastily. "Was Mathieu rude?"
"My dear, how late you are," said Mlle Ange, looking up from her needlework.
"Not Mathieu?" continued Marthe. "What has happened, Aline? You have not bad news? It is not Jacques?" and her lips grew paler.
"No, no, ma tante."
"What is it, then? Speak, or—or—why, you have been to the château!" she said abruptly, as Aline came into the lamplight.
"Why, Marthe, what makes you say that?" said Ange, in a startled voice.
"The rust on her cloak—see, it is all stained. She has been leaning against the iron gates. What took you there, and what has alarmed you?"