"Oh, I forgot," exclaimed Madame de Luceval, calling him back. "I want you to post this letter on your way." "Has madame any other commissions?" "No." So Baptiste departed. Madame d'Infreville understood and appreciated her friend's generosity in thus making herself an accessory to the deed. "Thank you, thank you, my dearest Florence," she exclaimed, gratefully. "Heaven grant that your kindness may not prove unavailing." "I hope it may not, indeed, but--" "Florence, listen to me. The only way I can prove my gratitude for the great service you have just rendered me is to place myself at your mercy,--in other words, to conceal nothing from you. I ought to have done that at first, and then explained the object of this letter, instead of exacting this proof of your devotion and friendship; but I admit that I was afraid you would refuse my request and blame me when you learned that--" Then, after a moment's hesitation, Valentine said, resolutely, though she blushed deeply up to her very eyes: "Florence, I have a lover." "I suspected as much, Valentine." "Do not condemn me without a hearing, I beseech you." "My poor Valentine, I remember only one thing,--the confidence you have shown in me." "Ah, but for my mother, I would not have stooped to this trickery and falsehood. I would have borne all the consequences of my wrong-doing, for I, at least, have the courage of my actions, but in my mother's present precarious condition of health, a scandal would kill her. Oh, Florence, though I am culpable, I am also very miserable," exclaimed Madame d'Infreville, bursting into tears, and throwing herself in her friend's arms. "Calm yourself, I beseech you, Valentine," said the young marquise, though she shared her companion's emotion. "Trust to my sincere affection, and open your heart to your friend. It will at least be some consolation to you." "My only hope is in your affection. Yes, Florence, I feel and know that you love me; that conviction alone gives me courage to make this painful confession. But, stay, there is another confession which I wish to have off my mind first. If I have come, after a long estrangement, to ask this great favour of you, it is not only because I counted blindly upon your friendship, but because, of all the women of my acquaintance, you are the only one my husband never visits. Now, listen to me: When I married M. d'Infreville, you were still in the convent. You were still a young girl, and my natural reserve prevented me from telling you many things,--among them, the fact that I married without love." "Like myself," murmured Florence.