"Is it?" the girl sighed. "Ah, mamma, how you terrified me!" Madame de Sainfoy shrugged her shoulders. "I wonder," she said, "how I have deserved such a daughter as you! No courage, no ambition for your family, no feeling of duty to them. Nothing but--I am ashamed to say it, Hélène, and you can deny it if it is not true--some silly sentimental fancy which carries your eyes and thoughts to that old farm over there. Ah, I see I am right. When did this preposterous nonsense begin? Why, the question is not worth asking, for you have hardly even spoken to that cousin of yours, and I will do him the justice to say that he, on his side, has no such ridiculous idea. He does not sit staring at Lancilly as you do at La Marinière! Yes, Hélène, I am ashamed of you." Hélène stood crimson and like a culprit before her mother. She hardly understood her words; she only knew that her mother had read her heart, had known how to follow her thoughts as they escaped from this stony prison away to sunshine and free air and waving trees and a happy, homely life; away to Angelot. What was there to be ashamed of, after all? She expected no one to be on her side; she dreaded their anger and realised keenly what it might be; but as for shame! Even as Madame de Sainfoy spoke, the thought of her young lover seemed to surround Hélène with an atmosphere of joyful sweetness. Yes, he was wonderful, her Angelot. Would he ever be afraid or ashamed to confess his love for her? Why could she not find courage then to tell of hers for him? With a new and astonishing courage Hélène lifted her long lashes and looked up into her mother's face. It was a timid glance at the best; the furtive shadow lingered still in her eyes, result of a life of cold repression. "Why should I deny it, mamma?" she said. Her voice was distinct, though it trembled. "It is true, and I am not ashamed of it. Angelot has been kinder to me than any one in the world. Yes--I love him." "Ah!" Madame de Sainfoy drew a long breath. "Ah! Voyons! And what next, pray?" "If you care at all to make me happy," the girl said, and she gained a little hope, heaven knows why, as she went on, "you and papa will--will give me to him. Yes, that is what I want. Mamma, see, I have no ambition. I don't care to live in Paris or to go to Court--I hate it! I want to live in the country--over there--at La Marinière." A smile curled Madame de Sainfoy's pretty mouth. It was not an agreeable one; but it frightened Hélène much less than an angry word would have done. She came forward a step or two, knelt on her mother's footstool, timidly rested a hand on her knee. Madame de Sainfoy sat immovable, looking down and smiling. "Speak, mamma," murmured the girl. "Hélène, are you deaf?" said Madame de Sainfoy. "Did you hear what I said just now?" "You told me I had no courage or ambition. I suppose it is true."