Marie-Anne could not fail to be deeply touched by this kindly interest
on the part of her former friend. So, with perfect frankness, and
without any false shame, she confessed that all her efforts had been
fruitless. It had even seemed to her that several ladies had taken
pleasure in treating her unkindly.

But Mlle. Blanche was not listening. A few steps from her stood the
flowers brought from Sairmeuse; and their perfume rekindled her anger.

"At least," she interrupted, "you have here what will almost make you
forget the gardens of Sairmeuse. Who sent you these beautiful flowers?"

Marie-Anne turned crimson. She did not speak for a moment, but at last
she replied, or rather stammered:

"It is--an attention from the Marquis de Sairmeuse."

"So she confesses it!" thought Mlle. de Courtornieu, amazed at what she
was pleased to consider an outrageous piece of impudence.

But she succeeded in concealing her rage beneath a loud burst of
laughter; and it was in a tone of raillery that she said:

"Take care, my dear friend; I am going to call you to account. It is
from my fiance that you are accepting flowers."

"What! the Marquis de Sairmeuse?"

"Has demanded the hand of your friend. Yes, my darling; and my father