Madame de Frontignac looked as triumphant as a child who has made its mother laugh, and went on laying things out of her trunk into her drawers with a zeal that was quite amusing to see.
"You see, ma blanche, I have left all Madame's clothes at Philadelphia, and brought only those that belong to Virginie,—no tromperie, no feathers, no gauzes, no diamonds,—only white dresses, and my straw hat en bergère, I brought one string of pearls that was my mother's; but pearls, you know, belong to the sea-nymphs. I will trim my hat with seaweed and buttercups together, and we will go out on the beach to-night and get some gold and silver shells to dress mon miroir."
"Oh, I have ever so many now!" said Mary, running into her room, and coming back with a little bag.
They both sat on the bed together, and began pouring them out,—Madame de Frontignac showering childish exclamations of delight.
Suddenly Mary put her hand to her heart as if she had been struck with something; and Madame de Frontignac heard her say, in a low voice of sudden pain, "Oh, dear!"
"What is it, mimi?" she said, looking up quickly.
"Nothing," said Mary, turning her head.
Madame de Frontignac looked down, and saw among the sea-treasures a necklace of Venetian shells, that she knew never grew on the shores of Newport. She held it up.
"Ah, I see," she said. "He gave you this. Ah, ma pauvrette" she said, clasping Mary in her arms, "thy sorrow meets thee everywhere! May I be a comfort to thee!—just a little one!"
"Dear, dear friend!" said Mary, weeping. "I know not how it is. Sometimes I think this sorrow is all gone; but then, for a moment, it comes back again. But I am at peace; it is all right, all right; I would not have it otherwise. But, oh, if he could have spoken one word to me before! He gave me this," she added, "when he came home from his first voyage to the Mediterranean. I did not know it was in this bag. I had looked for it everywhere."