Mdlle. de Cardoville spoke sincerely, for the explanation given by Rodin appeared to her very plausible.  Like all other persons who, dreading every moment the discovery of some painful secret have their courage as easily restored as shaken, Mother Bunch persuaded herself (and she needed to do so, to escape dying of shame), that the last words of Rodin were sincere, and that he had no idea of the love she felt for Agricola.  So her agony diminished, and she found words to reply to Mdlle. de Cardoville.

“Excuse me, madame,” she said timidly, “I am so little accustomed to such kindness as that with which you overwhelm me, that I make a sorry return for all your goodness.”

“Kindness, my poor girl?” said Adrienne.  “I have done nothing for you yet.  But, thank heaven! from this day I shall be able to keep my promise, and reward your devotion to me, your courageous resignation, your sacred love of labor, and the dignity of which you have given so many proofs, under the most cruel privations.  In a word, from this day, if you do not object to it, we will part no more.”

“Madame, you are too kind,” said Mother Bunch, in a trembling voice; “but I—­”

“Oh! be satisfied,” said Adrienne, anticipating her meaning.  “If you accept my offer, I shall know how to reconcile with my desire (not a little selfish) of having you near me, the independence of your character, your habits of labor, your taste for retirement, and your anxiety to devote yourself to those who deserve commiseration; it is, I confess, by affording you the means of satisfying these generous tendencies, that I hope to seduce and keep you by me.”

“But what have I done?” asked the other, simply, “to merit any gratitude from you?  Did you not begin, on the contrary, by acting so generously to my adopted brother?”

“Oh!  I do not speak of gratitude,” said Adrienne; “we are quits.  I speak of friendship and sincere affection, which I now offer you.”

“Friendship to me, madame?”

“Come, come,” said Adrienne, with a charming smile, “do not be proud because your position gives you the advantage.  I have set my heart on having you for a friend, and you will see that it shall be so.  But now that I think of it (a little late, you will say), what good wind brings you hither?”

“This morning M. Dagobert received a letter, in which he was requested to come to this place, to learn some news that would be of the greatest interest to him.  Thinking it concerned Marshal Simon’s daughters, he said to me:  `Mother Bunch, you have taken so much interest in those dear children, that you must come with me:  you shall witness my joy on finding them, and that will be your reward.’”

Adrienne glanced at Rodin.  The latter made an affirmative movement of the head, and answered:  “Yes, yes, my dear young lady:  it was I who wrote to the brave soldier, but without signing the letter, or giving any explanation.  You shall know why.”