to which I am forced by the necessity of defending myself from this woman
and her friends. You speak of my courage: it does not consist, I assure
you, in the display of wicked feelings--but in the power to repress and
hide all that I suffer, when I hear myself treated so grossly--in the
presence, too, of people that I hate and despise--when, after all, I have
never done them any harm, and have only asked to be allowed to live
alone, freely and quietly, and see those about me happy."

"That's where it is: they envy your happiness, and that which you bestow
upon others."

"And it is my aunt," cried Adrienne, with indignation, "my aunt, whose
whole life has been one long scandal that accuses me in this revolting
manner!--as if she did not know me proud and honest enough never to make
a choice of which I should be ashamed! Oh! if I ever love, I shall
proclaim it, I shall be proud of it: for love, as I understand it, is the
most glorious feeling in the world. But, alas!" continued Adrienne, with
redoubled bitterness, "of what use are truth and honor, if they do not
secure you from suspicions, which are as absurd as they are odious?" So
saying, she again pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Come, my dear Mdlle. Adrienne," said M. Baleinier, in a voice full of
the softest unction, "becalm--it is all over now. You have in me a
devoted friend." As he pronounced these last words, he blushed in spite
of his diabolical craft.

"I know you are my friend," said Adrienne: "I shall never forget that, by
taking my part to-day, you exposed yourself to the resentment of my
aunt--for I am not ignorant of her power, which is very great, alas! for
evil."