“I do not conceal the fact,” said [pg 049] Ragaud, “that more than one of those so-called friends have pained us by their neglect.”
“Let us be just,” said the curé; “do you forget that your house was so tightly closed no one dared knock at the door? I even hesitated to visit you, and yet you cannot doubt my affection for you. Why, then, should others have been bolder?”
“Oh!” said Ragaud, “any one that wished could easily have found his way in. You had no difficulty, dear monsieur.”
“That I grant, but I was in the country. Do you know how many of your best friends are here yet? In the first place, the whole of the château are in Paris.”
“Yes, I know it,” said Jeanne. “My godmother did not bid me good-by.”
“She was very sick, my daughter; you must not ill-judge her.”
“And Michou?” asked Ragaud.
“Michou was at Mass, directly behind you,” said the curé; “and if he did not show himself, it was from delicacy; but he is not far off, and will come at the first signal.”
“And Solange?” asked Jeanne, in such a low tone she scarcely could be heard. That was the name the curé was waiting for. He looked at Jeanne in a serious manner.
“Solange,” said he, “left also on that unfortunate day, and knew nothing of it. She, Jeanne Ragaud, was your most faithful friend, and is so still. You have calumniated her, my daughter. I know it; but I hope you have sincerely repented; above all, when you hear that she is now at the novitiate of the Sisters of Charity.”