Such was her nature.

Her presentiments were realized. It was, indeed, Mlle. Lacheneur who was
awaiting her in the drawing-room.

The poor girl was paler than usual; but nothing in her manner betrayed
the frightful anguish she had suffered during the past two or three
days.

And her voice, in asking from her former friend a list of "customers,"
was as calm and as natural as in other days, when she was asking her to
come and spend an afternoon at Sairmeuse.

So, when the two girls embraced each other, their roles were reversed.

It was Marie-Anne who had been crushed by misfortune; it was Mlle.
Blanche who wept.

But, while writing a list of the names of persons in the neighborhood
with whom she was acquainted, Mlle. de Courtornieu did not neglect
this favorable opportunity for verifying the suspicions which had been
aroused by Martial's momentary agitation.

"It is inconceivable," she remarked to her friend, "that the Duc de
Sairmeuse should allow you to be reduced to such an extremity."

Marie-Anne's nature was so royal, that she did not wish an unjust
accusation to rest even upon the man who had treated her father so
cruelly.