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A CONFIDENCE BETWEEN SISTERS.
Madame de Vandenesse, Marie-Angelique, who seemed to have broken down under a weight of troubles too heavy for her soul to bear, was lying back on the sofa with bent limbs, and her head tossing restlessly.

She had rushed to her sister's house after a brief appearance at the Opera.
Flowers were still in her hair, but others were scattered upon the carpet, together with her gloves, her silk pelisse, and muff and hood.
Tears were mingling with the pearls on her bosom; her swollen eyes appeared to make strange confidences.

In the midst of so much luxury her distress was horrible, and she seemed unable to summon courage to speak.
"Poor darling!" said Madame du Tillet; "what a mistaken idea you have of my marriage if you think that I can help you!" Hearing this revelation, dragged from her sister's heart by the violence of the storm she herself had raised there, the countess looked with stupefied eyes at the banker's wife; her tears stopped, and her eyes grew fixed.
"Are you in misery as well, my dearest ?" she said, in a low voice.
"My griefs will not ease yours." "But tell them to me, darling; I am not yet too selfish to listen.

Are we to suffer together once more, as we did in girlhood ?" "But alas! we suffer apart," said the banker's wife.