"Ah, forgive me, my friend!" cried Sophie, throwing her arms around the neck of the marquise; "my surprise was so great that it paralysed my gratitude. You have rescued us from ruin; we and our children owe you everything,--happiness, safety, fortune! Oh, you are our guardian angel!" The expression of Sophie Dutertre's gratitude was sincere. At the same time, the marquise observed a sort of constraint in the gestures and gaze of her friend. Her countenance did not seem as serene and radiant as she hoped to see it, at the announcement of such welcome news. Another grief evidently weighed upon Madame Dutertre, so, after a moment's silence, Madeleine, who had been watching her closely, said: "Sophie, you are hiding something from me; your sorrow is not at an end." "Can you think so, when, thanks to you, Madeleine, our future is as bright, as assured, as yesterday it was desperate, when--" "I tell you, my poor Sophie, you still suffer. Your face ought to be radiant with joy, and yet you cannot disguise your grief." "Could you believe me ungrateful?" "I believe your poor heart is wounded, yes, and this wound is so deep that it is not even ameliorated by the good news I brought you." "Madeleine, I implore you, leave me; do not look at me that way! It pains me. Do not question me, but believe, oh, I beseech you, believe that never in all my life will I forget what we owe to you." And with these words, Madame Dutertre hid her face in her hands and burst into tears. The marquise reflected for some minutes, and then said, with hesitation. "Sophie, where is your husband?" The young woman started, blushed, and turned pale by turns, and exclaimed, impulsively, almost with fear: "You wish to see him, then?" "Yes." "I do not know--if he is--this moment in the factory," replied Madame Dutertre, stammering. "But if you wish it, if you insist upon it, I will send for him, so that he may learn from you yourself all that we owe to you." The marquise shook her head sadly and replied: "It is not to receive your husband's thanks that I desire to see him, Sophie; it is only to say farewell to him as well as to you." "Farewell?" "This evening I leave Paris." "You are going away!" cried Madame Dutertre, and her tone betrayed a singular mingling of surprise, sadness, and joy. Neither one of these emotions escaped the penetration of Madeleine. She experienced at first a feeling of pain. Her eyes became moist; then, overcoming her emotion, she said to her friend, smiling, and taking both of Sophie's hands in her own: "My poor Sophie, you are jealous." "Madeleine!" "You are jealous of me, confess it." "I assure you--" "Sophie, be frank; to deny it to me would make me think that you believe that I have been intentionally coquetting with your husband, and God knows I have never seen him but once, and in your presence--"