Suddenly she appeared to regret this freedom,
permissible as it might be under the passing circumstances of a
journey. She recovered her conventional manner, bowed to the lady and
her son, and taking Francine with her, left the room. When they
reached their own chamber Francine wrung her hands and tossed her
arms, as she looked at her mistress, saying: "Ah, Marie, what a crowd
of things in a moment of time! who but you would have such
adventures?"
Mademoiselle de Verneuil sprang forward and clasped Francine round the
neck.
"Ah! this is life indeed--I am in heaven!"
"Or hell," retorted Francine.
"Yes, hell if you like!" cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "Here, give
me your hand; feel my heart, how it beats. There's fever in my veins;
the whole world is now a mere nothing to me! How many times have I not
seen that man in my dreams! Oh! how beautiful his head is--how his
eyes sparkle!"
"Will he love you?" said the simple peasant-woman, in a quivering
voice, her face full of sad foreboding.
"How can you ask me that!" cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil. "But,
Francine, tell me," she added throwing herself into a pose that was
half serious, half comic, "will it be very hard to love me?"
"No, but will he love you always?" replied Francine, smiling.
They looked at each other for a moment speechless,--Francine at
revealing so much knowledge of life, and Marie at the perception,
which now came to her for the first time, of a future of happiness in
her passion.
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