"She will discuss with the cat if there is no one else by," her sister had once said dryly, "and will argue with Death when he comes to fetch her."
At present the topic was schools, and Barbara and Madame Dubois sat quietly by, listening.
"I am not learned," madame whispered to the girl, with a little shrug, "and I know that nothing she can say will shake my husband's opinion—therefore, I let her speak."
Mademoiselle was very anxious that his little girl should go to school, and was pointing out the advantages of such education to the lawyer.
The latter smiled incredulously. "Would you have me send her to the convent school, where they use the same-knife and fork all the week round, and wash them only once a week?" he asked contemptuously.
"No," mademoiselle agreed. "As you know, Marie used to be there, and learned very little—nothing much, except to sew. No, I would not send her to the convent school. But there are others. A young English friend of mine, now—Mademoiselle Barbara knows her too—she is at a very select establishment—just about six girls—and so well watched and cared for."
Barbara looked up quickly. She wondered if she dared interrupt and say she did not think it was such an ideal place, when the lawyer spoke before her.
"Parbleu!" he said with a laugh, "I should prefer the convent! There at least the religion is honest, but—with those ladies you mention—there is deceit. They pretend to be what they are not."
"Oh, but no!" Mademoiselle Thérèse exclaimed. "Why, they are Protestants."
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.