Marguerite embraced her, pressed her hands, and hardly allowed her time to speak.

"Dearest," she said, "have you forgotten me?
Have you quite given yourself up to the pleasures of the court ?" "I have not even seen the marriage _fetes_." "What are you doing with yourself, then ?" "I am getting ready to leave for Belliere." "For Belliere ?" "Yes." "You are becoming rustic in your tastes, then; I delight to see you so disposed.

But you are pale." "No, I am perfectly well." "So much the better; I was becoming uneasy about you.

You do not know what I have been told." "People say so many things." "Yes, but this is very singular." "How well you know how to excite curiosity, Marguerite." "Well, I was afraid of vexing you." "Never; you have yourself always admired me for my evenness of temper." "Well, then, it is said that--no, I shall never be able to tell you." "Do not let us talk about it, then," said Madame de Belliere, who detected the ill-nature that was concealed by all these prefaces, yet felt the most anxious curiosity on the subject.
"Well, then, my dear marquise, it is said, for some time past, you no longer continue to regret Monsieur de Belliere as you used to." "It is an ill-natured report, Marguerite.

I do regret, and shall always regret, my husband; but it is now two years since he died.