"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Renée, "and I wanted it—for a keepsake!"
XII
A light carriage, drawn by one horse, was conveying the Mauperin family along the Sannois road. Renée had taken the reins and the whip from her brother, who was seated at her side smoking. Animated by the drive, the air, and the movement, M. Mauperin was joking about the people they met and bowing gaily to any acquaintances they passed. Mme. Mauperin was silent and absorbed. She was buried in herself, thinking out and preparing her amiability for the approaching visit.
"Why, mamma," remarked Renée, "you don't say a word. Are you not well?"
"Oh, yes, very well, quite well," answered Mme. Mauperin; "but the fact is I'm worrying rather about this visit—and if it had not been for Henri—There's something so stiff and cold about Mme. Bourjot—they are all so high and mighty. Oh, it isn't that they impress me at all—their money indeed! I know too well where they had it from. They made their money from some invention they bought from an unfortunate working-man for a mere nothing—a few coppers."
"Come, come, Mme. Mauperin," put in her husband, "they must have bought more than——"
"Well, anyhow, I don't feel at ease with these people."
"You are very foolish to trouble yourself——"
"We can tell them we don't care a hang for their fine airs!" said Mlle. Mauperin, whipping up the horse so that her slang was lost in the sound of the animal's gallop.