One afternoon Madame Troqueville called Madeleine in an eager voice. Madeleine listlessly came to her.
‘I have a piece of news for you,’ she said, looking at her with smiling eyes.
‘What is it?... Doubtless some one has invited us to a Comedy,’ she said wearily.
‘No! I came back by the Île and there I chanced on Monsieur Conrart walking with a friend’—Madeleine went deadly white—‘And I went up and accosted him. He has such a good-natured look! I told him how grievously chagrined you had been when his project came to naught of driving you to wait upon Mademoiselle de Scudéry, indeed I told him it had worked on you so powerfully you had fallen ill.’
‘You didn’t! Oh! Oh! Oh! ’Tis not possible you told him that!’ wailed Madeleine, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.
‘But come, my dear heart, where was the harm?’ Madeleine covered her face with her hands and writhed in nervous agony, giving little short, sharp moans.
‘Oh! Oh! I would liefer have died.’
‘Come, my heart, don’t be so fantastical, he was so concerned about it, and you haven’t yet heard the pleasantest part of my news!’
‘What?’ asked Madeleine breathlessly, while wild hopes darted through her mind, such as Mademoiselle de Scudéry having confessed a secret passion for her to Conrart.
‘This Saturday, he is coming in his coach to fetch you to wait on her!’
Madeleine received the news with a welter of different emotions—wriggling self-consciousness, mortification at the thought of Conrart knowing, and perhaps telling Mademoiselle de Scudéry, how much she cared, excitement bubbling up through apprehension, premature shyness, and a little regret for having to discard her misery, to which she had become thoroughly accustomed. She trembled with excitement, but did not speak.
‘Are you pleased?’ her mother asked, taking her hands. She felt rather proud of herself, for she disliked taking the field even more than Madeleine did, and she had had to admonish herself sharply before making up her mind to cross the road and throw herself on Conrart’s mercy.
‘Oh! yes ... yes ... I think I am,’ and Madeleine laughed nervously. Then she kissed her mother and ran away. In a few minutes she came back looking as if she wanted to say something.
‘What’s amiss, my dear life?’ Madeleine drew a hissing breath through her teeth and shut her eyes, blushing crimson.
‘Er ... did ... er ... did he seem to find it odd, what you told him about my falling ill, and all that?’
‘Dearest heart, here is no matter for concern. You see I was constrained to make mention of your health that it should so work on his pity that he should feel constrained to acquit himself towards you and——’
‘Yes, but what did you say?’
‘I said naught, my dear, that in any way he could take ill. I did but acquaint him with the eagerness with which you had awaited the visit and with the bitterness of your chagrin when you heard it was not to be.’
‘But I thought you said that you’d said somewhat concerning—er—my making myself ill?’
‘Well, and what if I did? You little goose, you——’
‘Yes, but what did you say?’
‘How can I recall my precise words? But I give you my word they were such that none could take amiss.’
‘Oh! But what did you say?’ Madeleine’s face was all screwed up with nerves, and she twisted her fingers.
‘Oh! Madeleine, dear!’ sighed her mother wearily. ‘What a pother about nothing! I said that chagrin had made you quite ill, and he was moved to compassion. Was there aught amiss in that?’
‘Oh, no, doubtless not. But ... er ... I hope he won’t acquaint Mademoiselle de Scudéry with the extent of my chagrin!’
‘Well, and what if he did? She would in all likelihood be greatly flattered!’
‘Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! do you think he will? I’d kill myself if I thought he had!’
Madame Troqueville gave up trying to reduce Madeleine’s emotions to reason, and said soothingly, ‘I’m certain, my dearest, he’ll do nothing of the kind, I dare swear it has already escaped his memory.’ And Madeleine was comforted.
She ran into her own room, her emotions all in a whirl, and flung herself on her bed.
Then she sprang up, and, after all these leaden-footed weeks, she was again dancing.