"That proves, mademoiselle, that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard did not marry willingly; and that he must certainly have been forced into this marriage with the bath keeper Landry's daughter."
"No, he might have refused; he is old enough to control his own actions. He had his choice between this marriage and a duel with this Bathilde's father, and he dastardly declined the duel!"
"Oh! mademoiselle, it is inconceivable that it was from lack of courage. Everybody agrees in saying that Monsieur le Comte Léodgard is the bravest of the brave!"
"Yes, yes, you are right; but, in that case, why did he consent? There is some mystery underneath all this—something which I would give all the world to discover!"
And Valentine, resting her head on one of her hands, half reclining on a sofa, lay for several minutes deep in thought. Miretta, kneeling on a cushion by her mistress's side, was equally motionless, and, wholly engrossed by her thoughts, evidently had no idea what she was doing.
Valentine emerged from her reverie at last, and said, passing her hand through Miretta's lovely black hair:
"Poor girl! you too are in trouble, and you have nobody to whom to confide your sorrows. But I have noticed your depression for some time; your face is careworn, and when you try to smile there are tears in your eyes—tears which you try in vain to conceal!—Come, tell me your troubles; has the man whom you loved so dearly betrayed you?"
"Alas! mademoiselle, I do not know whether he has betrayed me; yet I can but think that he has ceased to love me, as he no longer tries to see me. Days, weeks, months have passed, and I never see him—I cannot succeed in meeting him!"
"Poor Miretta, I understand your melancholy; but do you know whether he is still in Paris? Perhaps he has been compelled to absent himself, to take a journey, and had no time to send you word?"
"Oh, no! he is still in Paris, mademoiselle, I am very sure; for I—I sometimes hear of him."