At sight of Ambroisine's father, Bathilde fell on her knees and hid her face in her hands. But when Hugonnet's eyes fell on the poor girl, whose sufferings had already made inroads on her beauty, he forgot her fault and remembered only her misfortune.
He ran to her, lifted her up, and kissed her, saying:
"I am not your judge, I am your friend, as I used to be your father's. Would you like me to go to see him, and entreat him to be kind to his daughter?"
"Oh! you are too kind, monsieur. But I am afraid that you would do no good; perhaps, indeed, the anger of my parents would be redoubled if they should learn that you know of my wrongdoing."
"But suppose that I should go to see Landry and pretend to know nothing about it?"
"That would be better, father," said Ambroisine; "you can see how they receive you, and whether they mention their daughter."
"They will not mention her!" said Bathilde, sadly shaking her head. "When they turned me out of the house, they said to me: 'Never show your face here again; we shall not recognize you, for hereafter we have no daughter!'—So, you see, they will not mention me."
"Courage, my child, courage! It is impossible that their anger will not die away finally. Meanwhile, this house is yours, my daughter will be your sister, and I will try to replace those who have withdrawn their affection from you."
Bathilde kissed Hugonnet's hands; and Ambroisine threw her arms about her father's neck, crying:
"Ah! if I didn't love you already with all my heart, I believe that I should love you more than ever at this moment!"