She took her in her arms and gave her two hearty kisses. Octave discreetly wished to retire. But they grew angry: he could remain; he was one of the family. So he amused himself by looking on. Campardon, at first greatly embarrassed, turned his eyes away from the two women, puffing about, and looking for a cigar; whilst Lisa, who was roughly clearing the table, exchanged glances with surprised Angèle.
“It is your cousin,” at length said the architect to his daughter. “You have heard us speak of her. Come, kiss her now.”
She kissed her with her sullen air, troubled by the sort of governess glance with which Gasparine took stock of her, after asking some questions respecting her age and education. Then, when the others passed into the drawing-room, she preferred to follow Lisa, who slammed the door, saying, without even fearing that she might be heard:
“Ah, well! it’ll become precious funny here now!”
In the drawing-room, Campardon, still restless, began to excuse himself.
“On my word of honor! the happy idea was not mine. It is Rose who wished to be reconciled. Every morning, for more than a week past, she has been saying to me: ‘Now, go and fetch her.’ So I ended by fetching you.”
And, as though he had felt the necessity of convincing Octave, he took him up to the window.
“Well! women are women. It bothered me, because I have a dread of rows. One on the right, the other on the left, there was no squabbling possible. But I had to give in. Rose says we shall be far happier thus. Anyhow, we will try. It depends on these two, now, to make my life comfortable.”
Meanwhile Rose and Gasparine had seated themselves side by side on the sofa. They were talking of the past, of the days lived at Plassans, with good papa Domergue.
“And your health?” asked she, in a low voice. “Achille spoke to me about it. Is it no better?”