“You’re joking,” retorted Juliette impetuously. “Are you not at home here?”
But she ran off for a moment, hastened up the stairs, and called across the open rooms: “Pierre, don’t forget anything; there are seventeen packages!”
Then, at once coming back, she commenced chattering about her holiday adventures. “Oh! such a splendid season! We went to Trouville, you know. The beach was always thronged with people. It was quite a crush. and people of the highest spheres, you know. I had visitors too. Papa came for a fortnight with Pauline. All the same, I’m glad to get home again. But I haven’t given you all my news. Oh! I’ll tell you later on!”
She stooped down and kissed Jeanne again; then suddenly becoming serious, she asked:
“Am I browned by the sun?”
“No; I don’t see any signs of it,” replied Hélène as she gazed at her.
Juliette’s eyes were clear and expressionless, her hands were plump, her pretty face was full of amiability; age did not tell on her; the sea air itself was powerless to affect her expression of serene indifference. So far as appearances went, she might have just returned from a shopping expedition in Paris. However, she was bubbling over with affection, and the more loving her outbursts, the more weary, constrained, and ill became Hélène. Jeanne meantime never stirred from the rug, but merely raised her delicate, sickly face, while clasping her hands with a chilly air in the sunshine.
“Wait, you haven’t seen Lucien yet,” exclaimed Juliette. “You must see him; he has got so fat.”
When the lad was brought on the scene, after the dust of the journey had been washed from his face by a servant girl, she pushed and turned him about to exhibit him. Fat and chubby-cheeked, his skin tanned by playing on the beach in the salt breeze, Lucien displayed exuberant health, but he had a somewhat sulky look because he had just been washed. He had not been properly dried, and one check was still wet and fiery-red with the rubbing of the towel. When he caught sight of Jeanne he stood stock-still with astonishment. She looked at him out of her poor, sickly face, as colorless as linen against the background of her streaming black hair, whose tresses fell in clusters to her shoulders. Her beautiful, sad, dilated eyes seemed to fill up her whole countenance; and, despite the excessive heat, she shivered somewhat, and stretched out her hands as though chilled and seeking warmth from a blazing fire.
“Well! aren’t you going to kiss her?” asked Juliette.