ment told her that it
was indeed the prince. "The remarks of the inspectress were just,"
thought Clemence. "Goualeuse loves Rodolph; that was the name which she
pronounced in her sleep. Under what strange circumstance had the prince
and this unfortunate girl met? Why did Rodolph go disguised into the
Cite?"

The marquise could not resolve these questions. She only remembered what
Sarah had wickedly and mendaciously told her as to the pretended
eccentricities of Rodolph. Was it not, in fact, strange that he should
have extricated from the dregs of society a girl of such excessive
loveliness, and evidently so intelligent and sensible?

Clemence had noble qualities, but she was a woman, and deeply loved
Rodolph, although she had resolved to bury that secret in her heart's
very core.

Without reflecting that this was unquestionably but one of those
generous actions which the prince was accustomed to do by stealth,
without considering that she was, perchance, confounding with love a
sentiment that was but excess of gratitude, without considering that,
even if this feeling were more tender, Rodolph must be ignorant of it,
the marchioness, in the first moment of bitterness and injustice, could
not help looking on Goualeuse as her rival. Her pride revolted when she
believed she was suffering, in spite of herself, with such a humiliating
rivalry; and she replied, in a tone so harsh as to contrast cruelly with
the affectionate kindness of her first words:

"And how is it, then, mademoiselle, that your protector leaves you in
prison? How comes it that you are here?"

"Oh, madame," said Fleur-de-Marie, struck at this sudden change of tone,
"have I done anything to displease you?"

"In what could you have displeased me?" asked Madame d'Harville,
haughtily.

"It appeared to me just now that you spoke to me so kindly, madame."

"Really, mademoiselle, is it necessary that I should weigh every word I
utter? Since I take an interest in you, I have, I think, a right to ask
you certain questions!"

Scarcely had Clemence uttered these words, than she regretted their
severity; first from a praiseworthy return of generosity, and then
because she thought by being harsh with her rival she might not learn
any more of what she was so anxious to know. In fact, Goualeuse's
countenance, just now so open and confiding, became suddenly alarmed.
Like the sensitive plant, which, on the first touch, curls up its leaves
and withdraws within it