"Honora!"--the mother had turned. I heard her advance toward her
daughter--"do you really love the marquis? You have seen him but a few
times, have held hardly any intercourse with him, and at your age fancy
often takes the place of love. You do not love him, Honora, my child;
you cannot; you will forget--"

"Oh, mamma! Oh, mamma! Oh, mamma!"

The tone was enough. Silence reigned, broken at last by Mademoiselle
Letellier saying: "It is not necessary to see such a man as he is very
many times in order to adjudge him to be the best and noblest that the
world contains. But, mamma, you are not correct in saying that I
scarcely know him. Though you will not be frank with me, I am going to
be frank with you and tell you something that I have hitherto kept
closely buried in my breast. I did not think I should ever speak of it
to any one, not even to you. Some dreams are so sweet to brood upon
alone. But the shadow which your silence has caused to fall between us
has taught me the value of openness and truth. I shall never hide
anything from you again; so listen, sweet mamma, while I open to you my
heart, and learn, as you can only learn from me, how your Honora first
came to know and appreciate the Marquis de la Roche-Guyon."

"Was it not," interrupted the mother, "at the great ball where he was
formally introduced to us?"

"No, mamma."

Madame sighed.

"Girls are all alike," she cried. "You think you know them, and lo!
there comes a day when you find that it is in a stranger's hand you must
look for a key to their natures."

"And is not this what God wills?" suggested the child. "Indeed, indeed,
you must blame nature and not me. I did not want to deceive you. I only
found it impossible to speak. Besides, if you had looked at me closely
enough, you would have seen yourself that I had met the marquis before.
Such blushes do not come with a first introduction. I remember their
burning heat yet. Are my cheeks warm now? I feel as if they ought to be.
But there is nothing to grieve you in these blushes. It is only the way
a loving heart takes to speak. There is no wicked shame in them; none,
none."

"Oh, God!"

Did the daughter hear that bitter exclamation? She did not appear to;
for her voice was quite calm, though immeasurably loving, as she
proceeded in these words:

"I was always a mother-girl. From the first day I can remember, I have
known nothing sweeter than to sit within reach of your fondling hand.
You wer