“And now, indefatigable as you are, ma chère enfant,” said monsieur de Maubert when he and Giles and Alix were left alone, “framed of steel and india-rubber as I sometimes feel you to be when I watch your day, you will doubtless wish to go for a walk with monsieur Giles. Do not hesitate to leave me. I shall, I think, have a siesta here with my head in the shade and my feet in the sunset; even in the details of life, monsieur Giles, I am, you see, the Epicurean.”
Giles knew, then, that madame Vervier’s intentions, in regard to himself and Alix, had been imparted to monsieur de Maubert who thus took occasion for furthering them.
But Alix said: “No; the walk is not to be with Giles. I have promised Annette Laboulie to catch shrimps with her on the beach till supper-time.”
“And who,” monsieur de Maubert, kindly, yet with a certain austerity inquired, “is Annette Laboulie?”
“She came with my shoes her father had mended, the other afternoon. Do you remember? A dark, thin girl. She has not enough to eat.”
“You mean the sad young ragamuffin with the untidy hair? Not enough to eat? That must be seen to.”
“She is a ragamuffin; and untidy; I reproach her for that. But she is clean. And she is a clever girl in all sorts of ways. There are eight children, and Annette is a mother to them all. We are great friends. I used to play with her when I was little and Maman and I first came here.”
“Monsieur Giles, you are not flattered by this preference!” smiled monsieur de Maubert.
“And they don’t even invite me to join them!” laughed Giles.
But he understood. After the longing to know what Maman had said to Giles must come the longing to know what Giles now felt about Maman; but Alix wanted none of his impressions until those of Maman had been vouchsafed to her. As if by some deep instinct she knew that her destiny had been in question that afternoon.