He recommenced his explanations. She comprehended, and lowered her eyes: the young fellow would indeed interfere with their family effusions, and she herself felt a certain relief at his departure, no longer requiring him, moreover, to keep her company of an evening. He had to promise to come and see her very often.
“There you are, Mignon, supplicating Heaven!” cried Campardon joyously. “Wait a moment, cousin; I will help you down.”
They heard him take her in his arms and place her somewhere. There was a short silence, and then a faint laugh. But the architect was already entering the drawing-room; and he held his hot cheek to his wife.
“It is done, my duck. Kiss your old pet for working so well.” But the architect suddenly became virtuously indignant. He had just noticed that, instead of studying her Scripture history, the child was reading the “Gazette de France,” lying on the table.
“Angèle,” said he, severely, “what are you doing? This morning, I crossed out that article with a red pencil. You know very well that you are not to read what is crossed out.”
“I was reading beside it, papa,” replied the young girl.
All the same, he took the paper away from her, complaining in low tones to Octave of the demoralization of the press. That number contained the report of another abominable crime. If families could no longer admit the “Gazette de France,” then what paper could they take in? And he was raising his eyes to heaven, when Lisa announced the Abbé Mauduit.
“Ah! yes,” observed Octave, “he asked me to tell you he was coming.”
The priest entered smiling. As the architect had forgotten to take off his paper cross, he stammered in the presence of that smile. The Abbé Mauduit happened to be the person whose name was kept a secret and who had the matter in hand.
“The ladies did it,” murmured Campardon, preparing to take the cross off. “They are so fond of a joke.”