Pride: One of the Seven Cardinal Sins

But Herminie's voice and manner were so sweet and engaging, and the expression of her face was so kind, that Ernestine, reproaching herself for the bitterness of her first thought, replied:

"I thank you very much, mademoiselle, but I fear that by thus detaining you, I shall deprive you of the pleasure of – "

"Of dancing?" asked Herminie, smilingly. "I assure you, mademoiselle, that my foot hurts me too much this evening to permit of my enjoying myself in that way, so I trust you will grant me your companionship as a compensation for my misfortune."

"Really, mademoiselle, you quite overpower me by your kindness."

"I am only doing what you would gladly do for me, I am sure, mademoiselle, if you should see me sitting alone, as frequently happens when one attends a little entertainment like this for the first time."

"I do not believe, mademoiselle," replied Ernestine, smiling, and now made entirely at ease by these gracious advances, – "in fact, I am sure that you would never be left alone even the first time you went anywhere."

"Oh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, it is you who are overwhelming me with compliments now," laughingly protested Herminie.

"I assure you that I am only saying what I really think," Ernestine replied so artlessly that the duchess, appreciating the artless flattery, replied:

"I thank you for your very flattering words. I am sure that they are sincere; as for their being really deserved, – that is an entirely different thing. But tell me, what do you think of our little party?"

"It is charming, mademoiselle."

"I think so, too. Everybody is so gay and animated! Each guest seems determined to make the most of every minute of time. Nor is it strange. Sunday comes only once a week for all of us here, and enjoyment is really enjoyment, while to many people it is a fatiguing occupation. Surfeited with pleasure, they do not even know what it is to be amused; and it seems to me that nothing could be more sad than to be always trying hard to amuse oneself."

"Oh, yes, it must be sad, as sad as trying to find true affection, when nobody cares for you," Ernestine answered, unconsciously revealing the thought uppermost in her mind.

There was such an intense melancholy in the girl's tone and in her face, that Herminie was deeply touched by it.

"Poor child!" she said to herself, "probably she is not a favourite at home, and that makes her all the more sensitive to slights when she is out in company."

Something Herminie noticed just then seemed to confirm this suspicion, for the progress of the dance having brought the green-gloved youth and his partner directly opposite Ernestine, the duchess saw the favoured one cast several compassionate and rather patronising glances at the less fortunate damsel.

Mlle. de Beaumesnil also noticed these glances, and fancied that she must be an object of pity to every one. The thought, of course, wounded her deeply, so one can judge of her gratitude, when Herminie said, with a smile:

"Are you willing to waive all ceremony between us, mademoiselle?"

"Certainly."

"Well, I find it dreadfully warm here. Would you mind going with me to Madame Herbaut's chamber to stay awhile?"

"Oh, thank you, mademoiselle, thank you," exclaimed Ernestine, gratefully, rising eagerly as she spoke.

"But why do you thank me?" asked Herminie, drawing the younger girl's hand through her arm. "On the contrary, it is I who should thank you for consenting to leave the ballroom on my account."

"I thank you because I understand your motive, mademoiselle," replied Ernestine, as they entered Madame Herbaut's chamber, which they found entirely deserted.

"Well, now that we are alone, explain again why you thanked me a minute ago," said Herminie, when they had seated themselves.

"Mademoiselle, you are very generous, so you must be equally frank," began Ernestine.

"Frankness is one of my greatest virtues – or failings, mademoiselle," replied Herminie, smiling. "But why this appeal to my frankness?"

"Just now, when you asked me to accompany you here because the other room was too warm, you were impelled to do it merely by your kindness of heart. You said to yourself: 'This poor girl is neglected. No one asks her to dance because she is so unattractive. If she remains here, she will become an object of ridicule, and the knowledge will wound her deeply. I will save her from this humiliation by getting away under some pretext or other.' That was exactly what you said to yourself. Is it not so?" insisted Mlle. de Beaumesnil, making no effort to conceal her tears this time. "Confess that what I say is only the truth?"

"It is," said Herminie, with her accustomed honesty. "Why should I not admit that your unpleasant position excited my sympathy?"

"And I thank you for it," said Ernestine, offering her hand to her companion. "You have no idea how grateful I am, too, for your sincerity."

"And, as you insist upon my being perfectly frank, I must tell you that you have no idea how deeply you pained me just now," said Herminie, pressing the proffered hand cordially.

"I?"

"Yes; for when I remarked what a sad thing it must be to strive as hard for enjoyment as some people do, you replied, in accents that touched me to the heart, 'Yes, it must be as sad as trying to find true affection when nobody cares for you.' Have I not set you an example of frankness? Can you not be equally frank with me?"

"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, naïvely. 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 friendship 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 compassion on one side and gratitude on the other."