She did not doubt in the least that Olivier, out of the kindness of his heart, had wished to avenge the painful, almost humiliating slight she had received earlier in the evening, and a natural feeling of gratitude made Mlle. de Beaumesnil treat Olivier with less reserve, perhaps, than was quite proper in the extremely delicate position in which she was placed.
Olivier, in promising Mlle. Herbaut that he would ask Ernestine to dance, had merely yielded to a generous impulse, for, seeing Mlle. de Beaumesnil such a long way off, he had thought her almost ugly. He had never exchanged a word with her, he did not know whether she was clever or stupid, so, glad to find a topic of conversation in the warm friendship that seemed to exist between Herminie and Ernestine, he remarked to the latter, in one of the pauses of the dance:
"You seem to know Mlle. Herminie very well, mademoiselle. What a charming young lady she is!"
"I agree with you perfectly, monsieur, though I met Mlle. Herminie this evening for the first time."
"Indeed!"
"Our sudden intimacy surprises you, does it not, monsieur? But why should it? Sometimes the richest are the most generous. They do not wait to be asked; they offer their largess to you of their own accord. That was the case with Herminie this evening."
"I understand, mademoiselle. You knew no one here, and Mlle. Herminie--"
"Seeing me alone, had the goodness to come to me. This can not surprise you very much, however."
"Why not, mademoiselle?"
"Because a moment ago you, monsieur, were actuated by the same charitable impulse in asking me to dance."
"Charitable? What an expression to use in this connection, mademoiselle!"
"It is the right one, however."
"Quite the contrary, mademoiselle."
"Come, admit it, monsieur. You ought always to tell the truth, you know."
"Frankly, mademoiselle," responded Olivier, smiling in his turn, "should I be performing an act of charity--allow me to make this comparison--in culling a forgotten or unseen flower?"
"Say, rather, a rejected one."
"So be it, mademoiselle. But might this not merely show the poor taste of a person who would prefer a big red poppy to a modest violet."
And Olivier cast a laughing glance at the buxom lass whose gaudy attire did seem to justify the comparison.
Mlle. de Beaumesnil could not help smiling, but she answered, with a shake of the head:
"Ah, monsieur, kind as your reply is, it proves that I am doubly right."
"How is that, mademoiselle?"
"You took compassion on me, and you still have sufficient compassion to be unwilling to admit the fact."
"You do right to insist upon frankness, mademoiselle. It is a thousand times better than compliments."
"And what I certainly expect of you, monsieur."
"Well, yes, mademoiselle; seeing that you were the only person not dancing, I thought how dull it must be for you, and I resolved to engage you for the next quadrille. I hope my sincerity has not offended you, but you insisted--"
"Certainly, monsieur; and I am so grateful for your sincerity that if I dared--"
"Do not hesitate, I beg of you, mademoiselle."
"But no, however frank you may be, however great a lover of truth, your sincerity, I am sure, would not exceed certain limits--"
"Those you yourself prescribe, mademoiselle; no others."
"Are you in earnest?"
"I am, I assure you."
"The question I am about to put to you, monsieur, will seem so peculiar, so bold, perhaps."
"Then, mademoiselle, I shall tell you that it seems strange and bold, that is all."
"I don't think I shall ever dare--"
"Ah, mademoiselle, you seem to be afraid of frankness, in your turn,"
said Olivier, laughing.
"Say, rather, that I tremble for your sincerity; it will have to be so great, so rare, to stand my test."
"You need have no fears, I will vouch for it, mademoiselle."
"Well, monsieur, what do you think of my appearance?"
"Mademoiselle," stammered Olivier, who was not in the least prepared for such a brusque and embarrassing question; "really--I--"
"Ah, you see that you dare not say what you think, monsieur," exclaimed Ernestine, gaily. "But wait, to put you quite at your ease, let us suppose that on leaving this entertainment you should meet one of your friends, and in telling him about the young ladies you danced with, what would you say about me if you should happen to remember that I was one of your partners?"
"Well, mademoiselle," responded Olivier, who had partially recovered from his surprise, "I should merely say to my friend, 'I saw a young lady whom nobody asked to dance. This interested me in her, so I engaged her for the next quadrille, not supposing that our conversation would prove particularly interesting, for not knowing the young lady at all, I had nothing but commonplaces to say to her. But quite the contrary.
Thanks to my partner, our conversation was extremely animated, and the time passed like a dream.'"
"And what if your friend should perhaps ask if this young lady was pretty or ugly?"
"I should say that I had not been able to distinguish her features very well from a distance," replied Olivier, intrepidly, "but on seeing her closer, and looking at her more attentively, and more particularly after I had heard her talk, I found her face so gentle and kind and characterised by such an expression of winning frankness that I ceased to think that she was not pretty. But I should add, still speaking to my friend, of course: 'Do not repeat these remarks made to you in confidence, for it is only women of great good sense and amiability who ask for, or forgive, sincerity.' It is consequently only to a very discreet friend that I should say this, mademoiselle."
"I thank you so much, monsieur. I am grateful, you have no idea how grateful, for your frankness," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a sincere and earnest voice that Olivier, surprised and touched in spite of himself, gazed at the girl with lively interest.
Just then the dance ended, and Olivier took Ernestine back to Herminie, who was waiting for her; then, impressed by the singular character of the young girl with whom he had just danced, he withdrew himself a little apart to think over their strange conversation.
"You enjoyed yourself very much, did you not, Ernestine?" asked Herminie, affectionately. "I knew it by your face. You talked all the time you were dancing."
"M. Olivier is very pleasant; besides, knowing that you were so well acquainted with him made me feel perfect confidence in him at once."
"And he deserves it, I assure you, Ernestine. No one could have a better heart or a nobler character. His most intimate friend"--and the duchess blushed almost imperceptibly--"tells me that M. Olivier works like a slave at the most uncongenial employment in order to utilise his leave and assist his uncle, a retired officer of marines, crippled with wounds, who resides in this same house and has only his pension to live on."
"This doesn't surprise me at all, Herminie. I knew that M. Olivier must have a kind heart."