“And I shall not be obliged to preside at the dinner-table, you would add; is it not so? You selfish girl!”
“I am afraid of Monsieur de Gerfaut,” said the child, lowering her voice.
When she heard pronounced this name, so deeply agitating her, Madame de Bergenheim was silent for a moment; at last she said:
“What has Monsieur de Gerfaut done to you? Is it not downright ungrateful to be afraid of him so soon after the service he has rendered you?”
“No, I am not ungrateful,” replied the young girl quickly. “I never shall forget that I owe my life to him, for certainly, but for him, I should have been dragged into the river. But he has such black, piercing eyes that they seem to look into your very soul; and then, he is such a brilliant man! I am all the time afraid of saying something that he may laugh at. You know, some people think I talk too much; but I shall never dare open my mouth in his presence. Why do some persons’ eyes make such an impression upon one?”
Clemence lowered her own beautiful eyes and made no reply.
“His friend, Monsieur Marillac, does not frighten me one bit, in spite of his big moustache. Tell me, does not this Monsieur de Gerfaut frighten you a little too?”
“Not at all, I assure you,” replied Madame de Bergenheim, trying to smile. “But,” she continued, in order to change the conversation, “how fine you look! You have certainly some plan of conquest. What! a city gown at nine o’clock in the morning, and hair dressed as if for a ball?”
“Would you like to know the compliment your aunt just paid me?”
“Some little jest of hers, I suppose?”