Sister Anne clasped her hands, and her glance was so expressive, it besought her so earnestly to do what she desired, that Constance had not the heart to refuse; she seated herself at the piano, while Ménard observed _sotto voce_: "That young woman is passionately fond of music; it would be a good idea to teach her to play." Constance began an air, but Sister Anne stopped her and shook her head emphatically, as if to say: "Not that."--Thereupon she played another, but still the dumb girl was not satisfied. At last, Constance remembered that she was singing a ballad when she was interrupted; she sang it again, and had no sooner begun it than Sister Anne's emotion and the strained attention with which she listened showed plainly enough that that was what she wanted to hear. "Just see how this ballad excites her!" said Constance; "it's the one Frédéric always liked so much!" The words were hardly out of her mouth, when Sister Anne seized her hand, pressed it with all her strength, and nodded her head. Madame de Montreville did not understand her pantomime; she looked at Dubourg, who said in an undertone: "I assure you that there are times when she doesn't know what she is doing. She thinks that she sees her lover everywhere; love has turned her brain." Sister Anne's agitation partially subsided; the tears forced their way to the surface and relieved the strain. Constance gazed at her with emotion, repeating again and again: "Poor child! what a guilty wretch he was to desert you!" For several minutes everybody was silent. Constance resorted to her usual method of allaying the young mother's suffering: she took little Frédéric in her arms and carried him to her. She looked up gratefully at her benefactress, and, having covered her son with kisses, rose and prepared to go to her room. Constance insisted on accompanying her to the pavilion; there she left her, after urging her anew to be brave. "Your troubles will come to an end before long, I hope," she said. "Yes, your seducer will certainly return to sentiments more worthy of the man you love; he cannot have forgotten you entirely. Dubourg may not be accurately informed. Dry your tears; some day you will see him again; and how can he ever leave you after you put this darling boy in his arms?" These comforting words went to Sister Anne's heart; she welcomed the soothing hope that Constance held out to her, and parted from her somewhat less unhappy. Madame de Montreville returned slowly to her apartment; the sight of the suffering of the woman she had saved from want made her sad; Frédéric was not there to divert her thoughts and make her forget everything but her own happiness; she had never been separated from him for so long a time, and his absence tended to increase her melancholy. Ménard had retired, after saying to Dubourg: "This has been rather a tempestuous day."