In spite of her sister's joyous tone and lively manner,
Felicie experienced a sensation that was very like fear. Marguerite
took her hand and felt it tremble.
"Mademoiselle Felicie," said the elder, with her lips at her sister's
ear. "I read your soul. Pierquin has been here often in my absence,
and he has said sweet words to you, and you have listened to them."
Felicie blushed. "Don't defend yourself, my angel," continued
Marguerite, "it is so natural to love! Perhaps your dear nature will
improve his; he is egotistical and self-interested, but for all that
he is a good man, and his defects may even add to your happiness. He
will love you as the best of his possessions; you will be a part of
his business affairs. Forgive me this one word, dear love; you will
soon correct the bad habit he has acquired of seeing money in
everything, by teaching him the business of the heart."
Felicie could only kiss her sister.
"Besides," added Marguerite, "he has property; and his family belongs
to the highest and the oldest bourgeoisie. But you don't think I would
oppose your happiness even if the conditions were less prosperous, do
you?"
Felicie let fall the words, "Dear sister."
"Yes, you may confide in me," cried Marguerite, "sisters can surely
tell each other their secrets."
These words, so full of heartiness, opened the way to one of those
delightful conversations in which young girls tell all.
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