In lieu of answer the young girl rose and walked up to Marguerite, took her two hands, kissed them and said: "Dear, good aunt, you brush aside your own sorrows to think of mine, and you seek to console me.... I am ashamed not to know better and to repress my sorrow while you bear up so courageously before Master Marcel and your son!" "Truly, Denise, I do not understand you", remarked Marguerite slightly embarrassed. "My life is so happy, I need no special courage to bear it--" "Oh, oh! Do I not see you daily receive Master Marcel and your son Andre with a smile on your lips and a serene face, while your heart is in a storm of anxieties--" "You are mistaken, Denise!" "Oh, believe me; it is no indiscreet curiosity that guided me when I sought to penetrate your feelings. It was the desire to say nothing that might wound your secret thoughts whenever I am alone with you, as now so often happens good dear aunt." "You dear child!" exclaimed Marguerite embracing Denise with effusion and now making no effort to restrain her own tears. "How could I fail to be profoundly effected by so much delicacy and tenderness? How could I fail to respond with unreserved confidence?" Marguerite stopped but after a last few moments of hesitancy and making a supreme effort she proceeded: "'Tis true; you did not deceive yourself. Yes, my life is now spent amid anxieties and alarms. I thank you for having drawn the secret from me. I shall now, at least, be able to weep before you without reserve, and give a loose to my heart. Having paid that tribute to feebleness, I shall be able all the better to appear serene before my husband and my son! Oh ... I admit it; my only fear is to have them discover that I suffer! I know Marcel's love for me. It reciprocates mine. If he knew I was wretched I might cause his own calmness and fortitude to weaken that never yet have abandoned him and that he needs now more than ever in these perilous days." "Oh, the women who envy you would at this moment pity you, did they but see and hear you, dear aunt!" "Yes", replied Marguerite with bitterness; "the wife of Marcel, the idol of the people ... of Marcel, the real king of Paris, is envied. They envy the companion of that great citizen. Oh, they should rather pity her.... Tender indulgences ... sweet joys of the hearth, the happiness of the humblest ... since long I know you no more! The artisan, the merchant, their day's labors being done, at least enjoy in the bosom of their families some rest until the morrow. My poor husband, on the contrary, spends his nights at work ... while I, his wife, remain a prey to constant uneasiness night and day, ever fearing for his life or his son's!" "You have no reason to tremble for the life of Master Marcel, who can not take a step without he is surrounded by a crowd of devoted friends." "I fear the Regent's hatred, and that of the nobles and prelates."