Madame de Frontignac, who had already heard the intelligence, threw two or three of her bright glances upon her at breakfast, and at once divined how the matter stood. She was of a nature so delicately sensitive to the most refined shades of honor, that she apprehended at once that there must be a conflict,--though, judging by her own impulsive nature, she made no doubt that all would at once go down before the mighty force of reawakened love. After breakfast she would insist upon following Mary about through all her avocations. She possessed herself of a towel, and would wipe the cups and saucers, while Mary washed. She clinked the glasses, and rattled the cups and spoons, and stepped about as briskly as if she had two or three breezes to carry her train, and chattered half English and half French, for the sake of bringing into Mary's cheek the shy, slow dimples that she liked to watch. But still Mrs. Scudder was around, with an air as provident and forbidding as that of a sitting hen who watches her nest; nor was it till after all things had been cleared away in the house, and Mary had gone up into her little attic to spin, that the long-sought opportunity came of diving to the bottom of this mystery. "_Enfin, Marie, nous voici!_ Are you not going to tell me anything, when I have turned my heart out to you like a bag? _Chère enfant!_ how happy you must be!" she said, embracing her. "Yes, I am very happy," said Mary, with calm gravity. "_Very happy!_" said Madame de Frontignac, mimicking her manner. "Is that the way you American girls show it, when you are very happy? Come, come, _ma belle_! tell little Virginie something. Thou hast seen this hero, this wandering Ulysses. He has come back at last; the tapestry will not be quite as long as Penelope's? Speak to me of him. Has he beautiful black eyes, and hair that curls like a grape-vine? Tell me, _ma belle_!" "I only saw him a little while," said Mary, "and I felt a great deal more than I saw. He could not have been any clearer to me than he always has been in my mind." "But I think," said Madame de Frontignac, seating Mary, as was her wont, and sitting down at her feet, "I think you are a little _triste_ about this. Very likely you pity the good priest. It is sad for him; but a good priest has the Church for his bride, you know." "You do not think," said Mary, speaking seriously, "that I shall break my promise given before God to this good man?" "_Mon Dieu, mon enfant!_ you do not mean to marry the priest, after all? _Quelle idée!_" "But I _promised_ him," said Mary. Madame de Frontignac threw up her hands, with an expression of vexation. "What a pity, my little one, you are not in the True Church! Any good priest could dispense you from that."