Once more she came to a halt, as though an idea had suddenly occurred to her.
“Why, wait a minute; you must know him—of course you must. He visits one of your lady friends!”
“Ah!” exclaimed Hélène, with colorless face.
“Yes, to be sure; the lady who lives close by—the one who used to go with you to church. She came the other day.”
Mother Fétu’s eyes contracted, and from under the lids she took note of her benefactress’s emotion. But Hélène strove to question her in a tone that would not betray her agitation.
“Did she go up?”
“No, she altered her mind; perhaps she had forgotten something. But I was at the door. She asked for Monsieur Vincent, and then got back into her cab again, calling to the driver to return home, as it was too late. Oh! she’s such a nice, lively, and respectable lady. The gracious God doesn’t send many such into the world. Why, with the exception of yourself, she’s the best—well, well, may Heaven bless you all!”
In this way Mother Fétu rambled on with the pious glibness of a devotee who is perpetually telling her beads. But the twitching of the myriad wrinkles of her face showed that her mind was still working, and soon she beamed with intense satisfaction.
“Ah!” she all at once resumed in inconsequent fashion, “how I should like to have a pair of good shoes! My gentleman has been so very kind, I can’t ask him for anything more. You see I’m dressed; still I must get a pair of good shoes. Look at those I have; they are all holes; and when the weather’s muddy, as it is to-day, one’s apt to get very ill. Yes, I was down with colic yesterday; I was writhing all the afternoon, but if I had a pair of good shoes—”
“I’ll bring you a pair, Mother Fétu,” said Hélène, waving her towards the door.