task of unmasking hypocrisy and cupidity, but also, if not a consolation, at least a generous diversion in the midst of terrible sorrows.
From this moment, a restless, feverish activity took the place of the mournful apathy in which the young lady had languished. She called round her all the members of her family capable of answering the appeal, and, as had been mentioned in the secret note delivered to Father d'Aigrigny, Cardoville House soon became the centre of the most active and unceasing operations, and also a place of meeting, in which the modes of attack and defence were fully discussed. Perfectly correct in all points, the secret note of which we have spoken stated, as a mere conjecture, that Mdlle. de Cardoville had granted an interview to Djalma. This fact was untrue, but the cause which led to the supposition will be explained hereafter. Far from such being the case, Mdlle. de Cardoville scarcely found, in attending to the great family interests now at stake, a momentary diversion from the fatal love, which was slowly undermining her health, and with which she so bitterly reproached herself.
The morning of the day on which Adrienne, at length discovering Mother Bunch's residence, came so miraculously to rescue her from death, Agricola Baudoin had been to Cardoville House to confer on the subject of Francis Hardy, and had begged Adrienne to permit him to accompany her to the Rue Clovis, whither they repaired in haste.
Thus, once again, there was a noble spectacle, a touching symbol! Mdlle. de Cardoville and Mother Bunch, the two extremities of the social chain, were united on equal terms—for the sempstress and the fair patrician were equal in intelligence and heart—and equal also, because the one was the ideal of riches, grace, and beauty, and the other the ideal of resignation and unmerited misfortune—and does not a halo rest on misfortune borne with courage and dignity? Stretched on her mattress, the hunchback appeared so weak, that even if Agricola had not been detained on the ground floor with Cephyse, now dying a dreadful death, Mdlle. de Cardoville would have waited some time, before inducing Mother Bunch to rise and accompany her to her carriage. Thanks to the presence of mind and pious fraud of Adrienne, the sewing-girl was persuaded that Cephyse had been carried to a neighboring hospital, to receive the necessary succors, which promised to be crowned with success. The hunchback's faculties recovering slowly from their stupor, she at first received this fable without the least suspicion—for she did not even know that Agricola had accompanied Mdlle. de Cardoville.
'And it is to you, lady, that Cephyse and I owe our lives,' said she, turning her mild and melancholy face towards Adrienne, 'you, kneeling in this garret, near this couch of misery, where I and my sister meant to die—for you assure me, lady, that Cephyse was succored in time.'
'Be satisfied! I was told just now that she was recovering her senses.'
'And they told her I was living, did they not, lady? Otherwise, she would perhaps regret having survived me.'
'Be quite easy, my dear girl!' said Adrienne, pressing the poor hands in her own, and gazing on her with eyes full of tears; 'they have told her all that was proper. Do not trouble yourself about anything; only think of recovering—and I hope you will yet enjoy that happiness of which you have known so little, my poor child.'
'How kind you are, lady! After flying from your house—and when you must think me so ungrateful!'
'Presently, when you are not so weak, I have a great deal to tell you. Just now, it would fatigue you too much. But how do you feel?'
'Better, lady. This fresh air—and then the thought, that, since you are come—my poor sister will no more be reduced to despair; for I will tell you all, and I am sure you will have pity on Cephyse—will you not, lady?'
'Rely upon me, my child,' answered Adrienne, forced to dissemble her painful embarrassment; 'you know I am interested in all that interests you. But tell me,' added Mdlle. de Cardoville, in a voice of emotion, 'before taking this desperate resolution, did you not write to me?'
'Yes, lady.'
'Alas!' resumed Adrienne, sorrowfully; 'and when you received no answer—how cruel, how ungrateful you must have thought me!'
'Oh! never, lady, did I accuse you of such feelings; my poor sister will tell you so. You had my gratitude to the last.'
'I believe you—for I knew your heart. But how then did you explain my silence?'
'I had justly offended you by my sudden departure, lady.'
'Offended!—Alas! I never received your letter.'
'And yet you know that I wrote to you, lady.'
'Yes, my poor girl; I know, also, that you wrote to me at my porter's lodge. Unfortunately, he delivered your letter to one of my women, named Florine, telling her it came from you.'
'Florine! the young woman that was so kind to me!'
'Florine deceived me shamefully; she was sold to my enemies, and acted as a spy on my actions.'
'She!—Good Heavens!' cried Mother Bunch. 'Is it possible?'
'She herself,' answered Adrienne, bitterly; 'but, after all, we must pity as well as blame her. She was forced to obey by a terrible necessity, and her confession and repentance secured my pardon before her death.'
'Then she is dead—so young! so fair!'
'In spite of her faults, I was greatly moved by her end. She confessed what she had done, with such heart- rending regrets. Amongst her avowals, she told me she had intercepted a letter, in which you asked for an interview that might save your sister's life.'
'It is true, lady; such were the terms of my letter. What interest had they to keep it from you?'
'They feared to see you return to me, my good guardian angel. You loved me so tenderly, and my enemies dreaded your faithful affection, so wonderfully aided by the admirable instinct of your heart. Ah! I shall never forget how well-deserved was the horror with which you were inspired by a wretch whom I defended against your suspicions.'
'M. Rodin?' said Mother Bunch, with a shudder.
'Yes,' replied Adrienne; 'but we will not talk of these people now. Their odious remembrance would spoil the joy I feel in seeing you restored to life—for your voice is less feeble, your cheeks are beginning to regain a little color. Thank God! I am so happy to have found you once more;—if you knew all that I hope, all that I expect from our reunion—for we will not part again—promise me that, in the name of our friendship.'
'I—your friend!' said Mother Bunch, timidly casting down her eyes.
'A few days before your departure from my house, did I not call you my friend, my sister? What is there changed? Nothing, nothing,' added Mdlle. de Cardoville, with deep emotion. 'One might say, on the contrary, that a fatal resemblance in our positions renders your friendship even dearer to me. And I shall have it, shall I not. Oh, do not refuse it me—I am so much in want of a friend!'
'You, lady? you in want of the friendship of a poor creature like me?'
'Yes,' answered Adrienne, as she gazed on the other with an expression of intense grief; 'nay, more, you are perhaps the only person, to whom I could venture to confide my bitter sorrows.' So saying, Mdlle. de Cardoville colored deeply.
'And how do I deserve such marks of confidence?' asked Mother Bunch, more and more surprised.
'You deserve it by the delicacy of your heart, by the steadiness of your character,' answered Adrienne, with some hesitation; 'then—you are a woman—and I am certain you will understand what I suffer, and pity me.'
'Pity you, lady?' said the other, whose astonishment continued to increase. 'You, a great lady, and so much envied—I, so humble and despised, pity you?'
'Tell me, my poor friend,' resumed Adrienne, after some moments of silence, 'are not the worst griefs those which we dare not avow to any one, for fear of raillery and contempt? How can we venture to ask interest or pity, for sufferings that we hardly dare avow to ourselves, because they make us blush?'
The sewing-girl could hardly believe what she heard. Had her benefactress felt, like her, the effects of an unfortunate passion, she could not have held any other language. But the sempstress could not admit such a supposition; so, attributing to some other cause the sorrows of Adrienne, she answered mournfully, whilst she thought of her own fatal love for Agricola, 'Oh! yes, lady. A secret grief, of which we are ashamed, must be frightful—very frightful!'
'But then what happiness to meet, not only a heart noble enough to inspire complete confidence, but one which has itself been tried by a thousand sorrows, and is capable of affording you pity, support and counsel!—Tell me, my dear child,' added Mdlle. de Cardoville, as she looked attentively at Mother Bunch, 'if you were weighed down by one of those sorrows, at which one blushes, would you not be happy, very happy, to find a kindred soul, to
