Madame de Noirmont replied with a few almost unintelligible words; it was as if she were oppressed by some secret suffering, which she was doing her utmost to conceal.
Meanwhile, Ernestine had not waited for her father to repeat his request; she had run off to call Louise, who soon appeared before the assembled family.
Monsieur de Noirmont looked at her with more interest than he had previously displayed; Ernestine smiled at her affectionately; Madame de Noirmont lowered her eyes and became paler than ever. From the disquietude that had taken possession of her, from the anxiety that could be read upon her features, one would have taken her for a criminal awaiting judgment.
“Come, Louise, come nearer,” said Monsieur de Noirmont, motioning to her; “my daughter has told us of what you told her last evening. Do not tremble, my child; we shall not reproach you for telling us what was not true when you entered our service.”
“Oh! it was not I, monsieur!” murmured Louise.
“I know it, it was the person who obtained the situation for you, who thought it his duty to tell that falsehood.—So you do not know your parents, my poor girl?”
“No, monsieur.”
“Where were you brought up?”
“At Gagny. Ah! that’s it; I had forgotten the name of the village that you told me when you came here.—And the people who brought you up?”