"Forgive me, mother! forgive me, father, for the sin of which I am guilty! Ah! I am well punished! And when you drove me from your house, I would have killed myself, if that would not have been a greater crime.--Indeed, I had no right to take that step, for I too am a mother, and I will love my child so dearly!" "A mother! you, a mother!" cried Ambroisine, running to Bathilde and pressing her to her heart again. "But your mother cannot have known that when she turned you out of her house in this frightful storm!" "Yes, she knew it; I had just confessed everything to her--told her that I bore within me the fruit of my sin. That is why she turned me out and cursed me!" "Come, my poor girl, calm yourself a little; try not to grieve so. Remember that now you are not alone in your suffering, that I will assume half of your troubles, and that I will not rest until I have relieved them; for something tells me that I am in a measure the cause of what has happened to you." In a few moments Bathilde was undressed and lying in Ambroisine's bed. Her friend begged her to try to sleep, but Bathilde shook her head. "To sleep would be utterly impossible for me at this moment," she murmured. "If you are willing, I would prefer to tell you everything; but you are tired, you need rest, do you not?" "No, I am too excited. I had too violent a shock when I saw you in the street just now. I feel that I cannot sleep, either; and I prefer to listen to you. Tell me everything. But wait; I will sit here by the bed, close beside you--there; now, go on." "The man whom I love, Ambroisine--do I need to tell you his name?" "Oh, no! it is Comte Léodgard. I have had a sort of presentiment of it ever since that evening, at the Fire of Saint-Jean. Mon Dieu! how I regret that I ever had the unfortunate idea of taking you there with me!" "Do not reproach yourself, Ambroisine; was it your fault that the count found me--to his liking; and that I could not help feeling the most tender affection for him? You did all that you could do to keep me from loving him. You advised me like a mother. But the wound was inflicted--my heart had already ceased to be mine. It was no longer possible for me to shield myself against that love, which was stronger than my reason.--Ah! if you knew how sweet it is to love! Look you, even at this moment, when I am so miserably unhappy, I do not curse my troubles when I remember that it is for Léodgard that I am subjected to them!" "And to think that I believed you to be cured of that love! Because for a long time you had not mentioned the letter that the count wrote you; you never asked me for it!"