“You ask me what would I do in Paris?  I, too, would enjoy myself.  What will you do, yourself?  You will go to Court, to balls, and to the play, will you not?  Very well, I will accompany you.  I will attend these fetes.  I will have handsome toilets, I—­poor Aunt Medea—­who have never seen myself in anything but shabby black woollen dresses.  Have you ever thought of giving me the pleasure of possessing a handsome dress?  Yes, twice a year, perhaps, you have given me a black silk, recommending me to take good care of it.  But it was not for my sake that you went to this expense.  It was for your own sake; and in order that your poor relation should do honor to your generosity.  You dressed me in it, as you sew gold lace upon the clothing of your lackeys, through vanity.  And I endured all this; I made myself insignificant and humble; buffeted upon one cheek, I offered the other.  I must live—­I must have food.  And you, Blanche, how often, to make me subservient to your will, have you said to me:  ’You will do thus-and-so, if you desire to remain at Courtornieu?’ And I obeyed—­I was forced to obey, since I knew not where to go.  Ah! you have abused me in every way; but now my turn has come!”

Blanche was so amazed that she could not articulate a syllable.  At last, in a scarcely audible voice, she faltered: 

“I do not understand you, aunt; I do not understand you.”

The poor dependent shrugged her shoulders, as her niece had done a few moments before.

“In that case,” said she, slowly, “I may as well tell you that since you have, against my will, made me your accomplice, we must share everything in common.  I share the danger; I will share the pleasure.  What if all should be discovered?  Do you ever think of that?  Yes; and that is why you are seeking diversion.  Very well!  I also desire diversion.  I shall go to Paris with you.”

By a terrible effort Blanche had succeeded in regaining her self-possession, in some measure at least.

“And if I should say no?” she responded, coldly.

“But you will not say no.”

“And why, if you please?”

“Because——­”

“Will you go to the authorities and denounce me?”

Aunt Medea shook her head.

“I am not such a fool,” she retorted.  “I should only compromise myself.  No, I shall not do that; but I might, perhaps, tell your husband what happened at the Borderie.”

Blanche shuddered.  No threat was capable of moving her like that.

“You shall accompany us, aunt,” said she; “I promise it.”

Then she added, gently: 

“But it is unnecessary to threaten me.  You have been cruel, aunt, and at the same time, unjust.  If you have been unhappy in our house, you alone are to blame.  Why have you said nothing?  I attributed your complaisance to your affection for me.  How was I to know that a woman as quiet and modest as yourself longed for fine apparel.  Confess that it was impossible.  Had I known—­But rest easy, aunt; I will atone for my neglect.”