_Mademoiselle de Meuriot and Therese turn away their heads to hide their smiles; finally Madame Nerisse shuts the door, not having noticed anything, and comes forward. She speaks to Mademoiselle Gregoire._ MADAME NERISSE. Come, my dear. I'll introduce you to the others. [_To Mademoiselle de Meuriot_] Ah! the post has come. Open the letters, Therese, will you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Yes, we will. MADAME NERISSE [_at the door on the right, to Mademoiselle Gregoire_] You first. [_They go out_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_smiling_] I think our new friend was a bit amused. She's pretty. THERESE. Yes, and she looks capable. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Let's get to work. _She sits down, at a desk. Therese sits near her at the end of the same desk. During all that follows Therese opens envelopes with a letter opener and passes them to Mademoiselle de Meuriot, who takes the letters out, glances at them, and makes three or four little piles of them._ THERESE. Here! [_Holding out the first letter_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_as she works_] And you? How are you this morning? [_Looking closely at her and shaking a finger_] You're tired, little girl. You sat up working last night. THERESE. I wanted to finish copying out my manuscript. It took me ages, because I wanted to make it as clear as print. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_gravely_] You know you mustn't be ill, Therese. THERESE. How good you are, Mademoiselle, and how lucky I am to have you for a friend. What should I do without you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. How about your godmother? THERESE. I didn't get on with her. She never could hide her dislike for me, and it burst out in the end. When she saw that in spite of everything she could say I was going to leave her, she let herself go and made a dreadful scene. And, what was worse, my good, kind godfather joined in! It seemed as if they thought my wanting to be independent was a direct insult to them. What a lot of letters there are to-day. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. It's the renewal of the subscriptions. THERESE. Oh, is that it? So you see we parted, not exactly enemies--but, well--on our dignity. We write little letters to one another now, half cold and half affectionate. I tell you, without you I should be quite alone. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Not more alone than I am. THERESE. I have someone to talk to now and tell my little worries to. It's not that, even. One always finds people ready to listen to you and pity you, but what one doesn't find is people one can tell one's most impossible dreams to and feel sure one won't be laughed at. That's real friendship. [_She stops working as she continues_] To dare to think out loud before another person and let her see the gods of one's secret idolatry, and to be sure one's not exposing one's precious things to blasphemy. How I love you for being like you are and for caring for me a little. [_She resumes her work_]