Mme. Mauperin had lowered her voice. Leaning forward towards Denoisel she was telling him a very lively story. The others could only catch a word here and there between smothered bursts of laughter.
"Mamma, it's not allowed; that sort of thing—laughing all to yourselves. Give me back my Denoisel, or I'll tell stories like yours to papa."
"Oh, dear, wasn't it absurd!" said Mme. Mauperin, when she had finished her bit of gossip, laughing heartily as old ladies do over a spicy tale.
"How very lively you all are this evening!" exclaimed Denoisel, chilled by all this gaiety.
"Yes, we are as gay as Pinchon," said Renée, "that's how we all feel! And we shall be like this to-morrow, and the day after, and always; shall we not, papa?" and running across to her father she sat down on his knees like a child.
"My darling!" said M. Mauperin to his daughter. "Well, I never! Just look, my dear, do you remember? This was her knee when she was a little girl."
"Yes," said Mme. Mauperin, "and Henri had the other one."
"Yes, I can see them now," continued M. Mauperin; "Henri was the girl and you were the boy, Renée. Just to fancy that all that was fifteen years ago. It used to amuse you finely when I let you put your little hands on the scars that my wounds had left. What rascals of children they were! How they laughed!" Then turning to his wife he added, "What work you had with them, my dear. It doesn't matter though, Denoisel; it's a good thing to have a family. Instead of only having one heart, it's as though you have several—upon my word it is!"
"Ah, Denoisel, now that you are here, we shall not let you go again," said Renée. "Your room has been waiting for you long enough."
"I'm so sorry, Renée, but really I have some business to attend to this evening in Paris; I have, really."