Mignonne said that in a peculiar tone; then she returned to her work and did not utter another word. Soon the door opened and Frédérique appeared, as affable, smiling, and fascinating as on the day before. She shook hands with me and nodded pleasantly to Mignonne, who returned her salutation much less graciously. I was sitting at the piano, jotting down an air that had come into my head. Frédérique insisted that she would not disturb me; and while I was trying to pick out an accompaniment for my air, I saw that she went to Mignonne and tried to talk with her. I played a little for Frédérique, who sang very well when she chose to take the trouble. Mignonne, perhaps because she was not fond of music, seemed to take little pleasure in listening to us. Frédérique passed a large part of the day with me, and Mignonne went away earlier than usual. A fortnight passed. Frédérique continued to come frequently to see me. Her mood with me never changed, her glance was always sweet; the most perfect harmony reigned between us. As for Mignonne, I was disturbed to see that her features had resumed their expression of gloomy melancholy, that the roses which had reappeared for a time on her cheeks had again given place to pallor. And I was distressed by that change, of which I could not guess the cause. Ballangier came twice. I urged him to remain, and gave him a seat near the pretty seamstress. Then I easily made an excuse for leaving them together, in the hope that they would become better acquainted. But both times Ballangier said to me, when he went away: "It will be a long job; she's still just as sad as ever, and she doesn't look at me at all; in fact, I'm not sure that she listens when I am talking to her. But, never mind, I'll be patient, and I'll have love enough for two, if necessary." One evening, when Frédérique had come during the day, and, not finding me, had passed several hours with Mignonne, I was much surprised to receive a note from her containing these words only: "I have something to say to you, my friend, something important. I shall expect you." What could she have to say to me, of such urgency? However, I knew Frédérique well enough to know that when she had anything to say, it was perfect torture to her to have to wait till the next day; so I went to her at once. My friend was in a very dainty négligé, which reminded me of the night I had supped with her. She smiled sweetly, as I entered the room, and gave me her hand, saying: "I was sure that you would come at once. You realized that I don't like to wait! Come, sit here by my side, and we will talk like two good friends." I did as she bade me. She began by putting her hand on mine. "My friend," she said, "it is rather embarrassing for me to tell you what I have to tell. I trust that you will not take my words in ill part, that you will not be angry, as I was. But, above all things, be persuaded that I am perfectly sure that I am not mistaken."