The _belle baigneuse_ had not had time to visit her friend since the Fire of Saint-Jean; and yet a secret presentiment told her that her friendship was more than ever necessary to Bathilde. At last, she stole a moment during the morning and hastened to Rue Dauphine; she ran up to her friend's room and did not find her there; a servant told her that her master's daughter passed almost all her time now in the linen closet, and pointed it out to her. This change of habit surprised Ambroisine. However, she went to the small room where Bathilde was. The latter, when she saw her friend, was confused for a moment, and hastily thrust into her bosom the letter which she was reading for the hundredth time. Ambroisine ran to Bathilde and kissed her, saying: "Well! here I am at last! I succeeded in making my escape to-day.--We have so many people at our baths, and so many young men come to be shaved by father! But I found a moment this morning, and I ran away. I was so anxious to see you! And you--have you no desire to talk over our evening on the Place de Grève? We have so many things to say to each other! haven't we?" "Oh, yes! yes! I longed to see you, too." "It's strange, but you don't say that with all your heart, as I do! You have a curious manner. Have you been sick? You are quite pale.--Oh! there is certainly something wrong!" "Why, no--you are mistaken; I am not sick at all!" "So much the better.--But how does it happen that you are in this room looking on the street--you, who never used to leave your own bedroom?" "Why, I am here--I am here----" "Yes, I see that you are here!" "I am here because I asked father's permission to put my lovely rosebush on this balcony, which is a much better place for it; and then--I--I have to come here to tend it." "Ah! so it's on account of your rosebush?" "And then, it is much livelier here than in my room." "That is true enough. But when your mother comes home, I am very sure that she will make you carry your rosebush back to your room, and will forbid your coming here any more." "Do you think so? O mon Dieu!" "Well! now you are as pale as a ghost! Come, Bathilde, kiss me and tell me all; you have something on your mind, and you do not want to confide it to me. Am I no longer your sister, your friend? Do you propose to have secrets from me? Oh, no! that is impossible! You are going to tell me why it is that you are so distressed, that your eyes are full of tears, that you are afraid to look me in the face. Do you mean to tell me that you will not open your heart to me any more? Come, speak out!" Bathilde hesitated, but at last she faltered: "Ah! but you will say more unkind things about him!" Ambroisine shuddered; those few words told her the whole story. Her face assumed an expression of profound sadness. "About him! him! Mon Dieu! have you seen Comte Léodgard again?" "Did I say that?"