The girl laughed; the family had never been in the habit of flattering one another, and she did not appreciate it as much as Mademoiselle Thérèse had meant she should. Indeed, Barbara wished that the lady would be less suave to her and more uniform in temper towards the rest of the household, who sometimes, she shrewdly surmised, suffered considerably from the younger sister's irascibility.
She had just been in St. Servan ten days, when she had an example of what she described in a letter home as a "stage quarrel" between the Mademoiselles Loiré. It began at second déjeuner over some trivial point in the education of Marie, about whom they were very apt to be jealous. Their voices gradually rose higher and higher, the remarks made being anything but complimentary, till finally Mademoiselle Loiré leaped from her seat, saying she would not stay there to be insulted, and darted upstairs. Her sister promptly followed, continuing her argument as she went, but arriving too late at the study door, which was bolted on the inside by the fugitive.
After various fruitless attempts to make herself heard, Mademoiselle Thérèse returned to the dining-room, and after a few words of politeness to Barbara, began once more on the subject of dispute, this time with Marie, her niece. Apparently the latter took a leaf out of her aunt's book, for after speaking noisily for a few minutes, she said she would not be insulted either, and followed her upstairs. Thereupon Mademoiselle Thérèse's anger knew no bounds, and finding that Marie had taken refuge beside her aunt in the study, she began to beat a lively tattoo upon the door.
The two boys, full of curiosity, followed to see what was going on, so Barbara was left in solitary grandeur, with the ruins of an omelette before her, and she, "having hunger," went on stolidly with her meal. She was, in truth, a little disgusted with the whole affair, and was not sorry to escape to her room before Mademoiselle Thérèse returned. They were making such a noise below that it was useless to attempt to do any work, and she was just thinking of going out for a walk, when her door burst open and in rushed Mademoiselle Loiré, dragging Marie with her.
"Keep her with you," she panted; "she says she will kill my sister. Keep her with you while I go down and argue with Thérèse."
Barbara looked sharply at the girl, and it seemed to her that though she kept murmuring, "I'll kill her I—I'll kill her!" half her anger was merely assumed, and that there was no necessity for alarm.
"How can they be so silly and theatrical?" she muttered. Then, glancing round the room to see if there were anything she could give her, she noticed a bottle of Eno's Fruit Salts, and her eyes twinkled. It was not exactly the same thing as sal volatile, of course, but at any rate it would keep the girl quiet, so, pouring out a large glassful, she bade Marie drink it. The latter obeyed meekly, and for some time was reduced to silence by want of breath.
"I shall certainly throw myself into the sea," she gasped at last.
"Well, you will certainly be more foolish than I thought you were, if you do," Barbara returned calmly. "Indeed, I can't think what all this fuss is about."
Marie stared. "Why, it's to show Aunt Thérèse that she must not tyrannise over us like that," she said. "I told her I was going to throw myself into the sea, and as she believes it, it is almost the same thing."