Clemence resumed gently, not to awaken the suspicions of her _protegee_ by too sudden a change. "In truth, I repeat to you, I cannot comprehend that, having so much to praise in your benefactor, you should be a prisoner here; how, after having sincerely returned to the paths of rectitude, could you cause yourself to be arrested in a place to you interdicted? All this seems to me extraordinary. You speak of an oath which so far has imposed silence upon you; but this oath even is so strange!" "I have told the truth, madame." "I am sure of it; one has only to see and hear you to believe you incapable of a falsehood. But, what is incomprehensible in your situation, augments, irritates my impatient curiosity; it is only to that that you must attribute the sharpness of my words just now. Come, I avow I was wrong; for, although I had no other right to your confidence than my earnest wish to be useful to you, you have offered to tell me that which you have told to no one, and I am very sensible, believe me, my poor child, of this proof of your faith in the interest I have for you. Hence, I promise you, in guarding scrupulously your secret, if you confide it to me, I will do all in my power to meet your wishes." Thanks to this palliating speech, Madame d'Harville regained the confidence of La Goualeuse, for a moment impaired. Fleur-de-Marie, in her innocence, reproached herself for having misinterpreted the words which had wounded her. "Pardon me, madame," said she; "I was doubtless wrong not to tell you at once what you wished to know; but you asked me the name of my rescuer; in spite of myself, I cannot resist the pleasure of speaking of him." "Nothing is better; it proves how grateful you are toward him. But why have you left the good people with whom he had placed you? Does your oath have reference to this?"