"Oh, thank you, mademoiselle, thank you," exclaimed Ernestine, gratefully, rising eagerly as she spoke. "But why do you thank me?" asked Herminie, drawing the younger girl's hand through her arm. "On the contrary, it is I who should thank you for consenting to leave the ballroom on my account." "I thank you because I understand your motive, mademoiselle," replied Ernestine, as they entered Madame Herbaut's chamber, which they found entirely deserted. "Well, now that we are alone, explain again why you thanked me a minute ago," said Herminie, when they had seated themselves. "Mademoiselle, you are very generous, so you must be equally frank," began Ernestine. "Frankness is one of my greatest virtues--or failings, mademoiselle," replied Herminie, smiling. "But why this appeal to my frankness?" "Just now, when you asked me to accompany you here because the other room was too warm, you were impelled to do it merely by your kindness of heart. You said to yourself: 'This poor girl is neglected. No one asks her to dance because she is so unattractive. If she remains here, she will become an object of ridicule, and the knowledge will wound her deeply. I will save her from this humiliation by getting away under some pretext or other.' That was exactly what you said to yourself. Is it not so?" insisted Mlle. de Beaumesnil, making no effort to conceal her tears this time. "Confess that what I say is only the truth?" "It is," said Herminie, with her accustomed honesty. "Why should I not admit that your unpleasant position excited my sympathy?" "And I thank you for it," said Ernestine, offering her hand to her companion. "You have no idea how grateful I am, too, for your sincerity." "And, as you insist upon my being perfectly frank, I must tell you that you have no idea how deeply you pained me just now," said Herminie, pressing the proffered hand cordially. "I?" "Yes; for when I remarked what a sad thing it must be to strive as hard for enjoyment as some people do, you replied, in accents that touched me to the heart, 'Yes, it must be as sad as trying to find true affection when nobody cares for you.' Have I not set you an example of frankness? Can you not be equally frank with me?" "It is true, mademoiselle, that I do not seem to follow your example in this respect," said Ernestine, hesitatingly. "Ah, well, let me ask you just one question, and pray do not attribute it to mere idle curiosity. Can it be that you do not find among your own relatives the affection you long for?" "I am an orphan," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a touching voice that Herminie's sympathy increased. "An orphan!" she repeated; "an orphan! Alas! I understand, for I, too--" "You, too, are an orphan?" "Yes." "How glad I am!" exclaimed Ernestine, naively. Then thinking how cruel or, at least, how strange the remark must have sounded, she added: "Forgive me, mademoiselle, forgive me, but--"