A smile curled Madame de Sainfoy's pretty mouth. It was not an agreeable one; but it frightened Hélène much less than an angry word would have done. She came forward a step or two, knelt on her mother's footstool, timidly rested a hand on her knee. Madame de Sainfoy sat immovable, looking down and smiling.
"Speak, mamma," murmured the girl.
"Hélène, are you deaf?" said Madame de Sainfoy. "Did you hear what I said just now?"
"You told me I had no courage or ambition. I suppose it is true."
"I told you something else, which you did not choose to hear. I told you that this fancy of yours was not only foolish and low, but one-sided. Trust me, Hélène. I know more of your precious cousin than you do, my dear."
"Pardon! Ah no, mamma, impossible."
"It is true. The other night, as you guessed, I sent you away that I might discuss your future with your father and his family. That very absurd person, Cousin Joseph de la Marinière, chose to give his opinion without being asked for it, and took upon himself to suggest a marriage between you and that little nephew of his. Take your hand away. I dislike being touched, as you know."
The girl's pale face was full of life and colour now, her melancholy eyes of light. She snatched away her hand and rose quickly to her feet, stepping back to her old place near the window.
"Dear Uncle Joseph!" she murmured under her breath.
"The young man was not grateful. He said in plain words that he did not wish to marry you. Yes, look as bewildered as you please. Ask your father, ask either of his cousins. I will say for young Ange that he has more wits than you have; he does not waste his time craving for the impossible. If it were not so, I should send you away to a convent. As it is, I shall stop this little flirtation by taking care that you do not meet him, except under supervision."