"Do you think so? O mon Dieu!"
"Well! now you are as pale as a ghost! Come, Bathilde, kiss me and tell me all; you have something on your mind, and you do not want to confide it to me. Am I no longer your sister, your friend? Do you propose to have secrets from me? Oh, no! that is impossible! You are going to tell me why it is that you are so distressed, that your eyes are full of tears, that you are afraid to look me in the face. Do you mean to tell me that you will not open your heart to me any more? Come, speak out!"
Bathilde hesitated, but at last she faltered:
"Ah! but you will say more unkind things about him!"
Ambroisine shuddered; those few words told her the whole story. Her face assumed an expression of profound sadness.
"About him! him! Mon Dieu! have you seen Comte Léodgard again?"
"Did I say that?"
"Yes. The words you have just dropped tell me that it is so.—Come, Bathilde, tell me everything now. You cannot have anything to conceal from your sister, who loves you so dearly. I will not scold you, I have no right to; but my friendship may be useful to you.—Speak, I entreat you!"
Bathilde no longer felt strong enough to resist her friend's entreaties; she had not yet learned to dissemble. She seated herself beside Ambroisine and told her all that had happened since they had met; and finally, taking Léodgard's letter from her bosom with a trembling hand she gave it to her friend.
Ambroisine shuddered as she read the letter, then turned her eyes on Bathilde, who was gazing into her face and waiting to hear what she would say.