Vera, with an irresistible impulse, pressed her lips to the hand she seized, then remained mute and confounded. She had come determined to prevail over her rival, to convince her, to use every means of contending if she failed in her first efforts, but her victory suddenly assumed an aspect she had not anticipated. It had certainly been an easy one, and yet Vera felt it had left a bleeding wound. She experienced for a moment more uneasiness than joy, and her attitude expressed no more of triumph than that of Fleurange of defeat. While one remained with her head and eyes cast down, the other had risen. A passing emotion colored Fleurange's cheek, the struggle of the sacrifice gave animation and an unusual brilliancy to her face.
“I think,” said she, “you have nothing more to say to me.”
“No—for what I would like to say I cannot, dare not.”
Vera rose and turned towards the door. A thought occurred to her. She approached Fleurange. “Excuse my forgetfulness,” said she; “here is the bracelet you lost this morning. I was commissioned to restore it to you.”
At the sight of the talisman, Fleurange started; her momentary color faded away, she became deadly pale, and, as she looked at it silently, some tears, the only ones she shed during the interview, ran down her cheeks. But it was only for an instant. Before Vera realized what she was doing, Fleurange clasped the bracelet around her rival's arm.
“This talisman was a present from the Princess Catherine to her son's betrothed. She said it would bring her good luck. It no longer belongs to me. I return it to you; it is yours.”
Fleurange held out her hand. “We shall never see each other again,” she continued; “let us not bear away any bitter remembrance of each other.”
Vera took her hand without looking at her. She had never felt touched and humiliated to such a degree; gratitude itself was wounding to her pride. But Fleurange's sweet, grave voice was now irresistible, and spoke to her heart in spite of herself. She hesitated between these two feelings. Fleurange resumed: “You are right. It is not my place to wait for you at this time—you have nothing more to forgive me for, I believe, and I forgive you everything.”
And as Vera still remained motionless with her head bent down, Fleurange leaned forward and embraced her.