At the door of Rondic’s house stood a young woman talking to a youth two or three steps below. Jack thought she must be the old man’s daughter, and then remembered that he had married a second time. She was tall and slender, young and pretty, with a gentle face, white throat, and a graceful head which bent slightly forward as if bowed by its rich weight of hair. Unlike the Breton peasants, she wore no cap; her light dress and black apron were totally unlike the costume of a working woman.
“Is she not pretty?” asked Rondic of his brother. “She has been giving a lecture to her nephew.”
Madame Rondic turned at that moment, and greeted them warmly. “I hope,” she said to the child, “that you will be happy with us.”
They entered the house, and as they took their seats at the table, Labassandre said with a theatrical start, “And where is Zénaïde?”
“We will not wait for her,” answered Rondic; “she will be here presently. She is at work now at the château, for she has become a famous seamstress.”
“Indeed! Then she must have learned also to keep her temper well under control, if she can work at the Director’s,” said Labassandre, “for he is such an arrogant, haughty person—”
“You are very much mistaken,” interrupted Rondic; “he is, on the contrary, a most excellent man; strict, perhaps, but when a master has to manage two thousand operatives, he must be somewhat of a disciplinarian. Is not that so, Clarisse?” and the old man turned to his wife, who, seemingly occupied with her dinner, paid no attention to him. A certain preoccupation was very evident.
At this moment the youth, with whom Madame Rondic had been talking at the door, came in and shook hands with his uncle Labassandre, who replied coldly to his greeting; thinking, possibly, of the remonstrances he had promised to lavish upon him. Zénaïde quickly followed: a plump little girl, red and out of breath; not pretty, and square in face and figure, she looked like her father. She wore a white cap, and her short skirts, and small shawl pinned over her shoulders, increased her general clumsiness. But her heavy eyebrows and square chin indicated an unusual amount of firmness and decision, offering the strongest possible contrast to the gentle, irresolute expression of her stepmother’s sweet face. Without a moment’s delay, not waiting to detach the enormous shears that hung at her side, or to disembarrass herself of the needles and pins which glittered on her breast like a cuirass, the girl slipped into a seat next to Jack. The presence of the strangers did not abash her in the least. Whatever she had to say she said, simply and decidedly; but when she spoke to her cousin Chariot, it was in a vexed tone.
He did not appear to notice this, but replied with jests which left more than one scar.
“And I wished them to marry each other,” said Father Rondic, in a despairing, complaining tone, as he heard them dispute.