Pride Part 67

"It is true, mademoiselle, that I do not seem to follow your example in this respect," said Ernestine, hesitatingly.

"Ah, well, let me ask you just one question, and pray do not attribute it to mere idle curiosity. Can it be that you do not find among your own relatives the affection you long for?"

"I am an orphan," replied Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a touching voice that Herminie's sympathy increased.

"An orphan!" she repeated; "an orphan! Alas! I understand, for I, too--"

"You, too, are an orphan?"

"Yes."

"How glad I am!" exclaimed Ernestine, navely. Then thinking how cruel or, at least, how strange the remark must have sounded, she added:

"Forgive me, mademoiselle, forgive me, but--"

"Ah, I think I read your feelings in my turn," responded Herminie. "Your exclamation simply meant: 'She knows how sad the lot of an orphan is, and she will love me, perhaps. Perhaps in her I shall find the affection I have failed to find elsewhere.' Am I right?" added Herminie, offering her hand in her turn. "Have I not read your thoughts aright?"

"Yes, that is true," replied Ernestine, yielding more and more to the singular charm that pervaded her companion's every word and look. "You have been so kind to me; you seem so honest and sincere that I do indeed long for your affection, mademoiselle. It--it is an ambition only. I dare not call it a hope, for you scarcely know me," concluded Ernestine, timidly.

"But do you know me any better than I know you?"

"No, but with you it is very different."

"And why?"

"Because I am already under deep obligations to you, and yet I ask an even greater favour."

"But how do you know that I will not be very glad to give you the friends.h.i.+p you ask in exchange for yours? You seem to me well worthy of it," said Herminie, who, on her side, was beginning to feel an increasing fondness for Ernestine.

Then, suddenly becoming thoughtful, she added: "Do you know that this is very strange?"

"What, mademoiselle?" asked Ernestine, a little worried by the seriousness of her companion's face.

"We have known each other barely half an hour. I do not know your name, you do not know mine; yet here we are almost exchanging confidences."

"But why should you be surprised to see affection and confidence spring up suddenly between a benefactress and the person obliged, mademoiselle?" asked Ernestine, timidly, almost imploringly, as if fearing Herminie might regret the interest she had manifested in her up to this time. "I am sure nothing could bring two persons together so quickly and so closely as compa.s.sion on one side and grat.i.tude on the other."

"I am too anxious to believe you not to yield to your arguments very readily," Herminie answered, half laughingly, half seriously.

"But my reasoning is true, mademoiselle," said Ernestine, encouraged by her success, and anxious to make her companion share her convictions; "besides, the similarity in our situations helps to bring us together.

The fact that we are both orphans is surely a bond between us."

"It is indeed," said the d.u.c.h.ess, pressing Ernestine's hand affectionately.

"Then you will really grant me your affection some day?"

"A few minutes ago, without even knowing you, I was touched by your painful position," replied Herminie. "Now I feel that I love you because it is so evident that you have a kind and n.o.ble heart."

"Oh, if you only knew what pleasure your words give me! I will never prove ungrateful, I swear it, mademoiselle!"

Then as if bethinking herself, she added, "Mademoiselle? It seems to me that it will be very difficult for me to call you that now."

"And equally difficult for me to reply in the same ceremonious way,"

responded the d.u.c.h.ess. "So call me Herminie and I will call you--"

"Ernestine."

"Ernestine," exclaimed Herminie, remembering that this was her sister's name,--the name the Comtesse de Beaumesnil had mentioned several times in the young musician's presence when speaking of her beloved daughter; "you are called Ernestine? You spoke of one bond between us just a moment ago; this is another."

"What do you mean?"

"A lady to whom I was deeply attached had a daughter who was also named Ernestine."

"You see how many reasons there are that we should love each other, Herminie," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil; "and as we are friends now, I am going to ask you all sorts of impertinent questions."

"Proceed, then!" said Herminie, smiling.

"Well, in the first place, what do you do for a living? What is your profession, Herminie?"

"I give lessons on the piano and in singing."

"How lucky your pupils are! How kind you must be to them!"

"No, indeed, I am very severe," replied the d.u.c.h.ess, gaily. "And you, Ernestine, what do you do?"

"I--I do embroidery and tapestry work," Mlle. de Beaumesnil answered, somewhat embarra.s.sed.

"And do you have plenty of work, my dear child?" asked Herminie, with almost maternal solicitude; "work of that kind is usually so very scarce at this season of the year."

"I came from the country only a short time ago to join my relative here," replied poor Ernestine, more and more confused; then gathering a certain amount of courage from the very exigency of the situation, she added: "So you see, Herminie, that I have never lacked work yet."

"If you ever should, I think I might be able to procure it for you, my dear Ernestine."

"You! and how?"

"I, too, have done embroidery for some of the large shops, when--well, one may surely confess it to a friend--when pupils were scarce, and I had to eke out a living in that way; so as they were very well satisfied with my work at the establishment of which I speak,--one of the largest in town by the way,--I am still on good terms with them, and feel sure that a recommendation from me would ensure you work if you need it."

"But as you embroider, too, Herminie, I should be depriving you of one of your resources, and if pupils should become scarce again, what would you do?" asked Ernestine, deeply touched by Herminie's generous offer.

"Oh, I have other resources now," answered the other girl, proudly. "I copy music, too. But the important thing, you see, Ernestine, is to be certain of work, for you, too, alas! know, perhaps, that it is not enough for those who labour for their daily bread to have energy and determination; they must have employment as well."

"Certainly, and that is very hard to find sometimes," said Ernestine, sadly, thinking for the first time of the sad lot of many young girls, and reflecting that her new friend had doubtless been in the deplorable situation of which she spoke.

"Yes, and it is terrible for one to see oneself nearing the end of one's resources, no matter how willing to work and how courageous one may be,"

replied Herminie, sadly. "And it is for this very reason that I will do everything in my power to spare you such misery as that, my poor Ernestine. But tell me, where do you live? I will call and see you sometime when I am out giving lessons, that is, if it is not too far out of my way, for I have to be very saving of my time."

Mlle. de Beaumesnil's embarra.s.sment was very great, and it was still farther augmented by the painful necessity of being compelled to utter a falsehood, so it was with no little hesitation that she replied: