"Not at all," she replied; "there is nothing wrong in what you have confided to me, Jeannet. I pity you with my whole heart, only I scarcely understand you."
"Why so, Solange? You are, however, very kind, and certainly have a heart."
"I hope so," said she; "but when a creature is loved so dearly, she should be esteemed in every respect."
"Don't I esteem Jeannette? O Solange! why do you say that?"
"But I only repeat what you first said, my child," she replied in her maternal tone, which was very sweet in that young mouth. "You think her capable of despising you, and imagine that she will disdain you when she learns the misfortune of your birth; therefore, you do not esteem her, and so, I repeat, I can't understand such great affection."
"You can reason very coolly about it," said Jeannet; "but if your soul were troubled like mine, you would not see so clearly to the bottom of things."
"It is precisely because you are so troubled that the good God permits this conversation to-night," she replied. "Let me tell you now why I still hope. Jeannette at this moment sins by the head, but her heart is untouched; and here is the proof: the secret you so dread her knowing she has known as well as either of us for more than three months. Have you seen any change in her manner?"
"Oh! is it possible?" cried Jeannet. "And who told her?"
"I myself," answered Solange. "She had heard at the château some words dropped by Dame Berthe, which excited her curiosity. After her sickness, when I went to stay with her, she one day asked an explanation of her doubts; and as I feared, if she questioned others, she would not be properly answered, I told her all."
"You did right; and what was her reply?"