Paul was very much afraid that his sister had some inkling of the intended surprise. He said that if no mention was made of the house, which had been talked so much of before the war, in the letters written to Madame Marie, the very silence might appear to her suspicious.
“He is right,” said Madame de Gandelau. “If Marie asks us what has become of the project and of the programme she sent, if she asks us how we have been occupied during the past year, we shall be obliged to prevaricate considerably. We shall contradict each other, and I really am rather averse to anything of the sort. We shall not be able to keep up a mystification for two or three hours together. Besides, Lucie is sure to let out the secret.”
“Oh, no!” said Lucie; “I shall say nothing, you may be quite sure.”
“Your eyes will speak for you, my dear child. But I will manage the matter. Leave me alone for a few moments with Marie. I will tell her that Paul, for the sake of some occupation during his over long holiday, has been building a small house, with his cousin’s assistance. I shall allow her to suppose it to be a mere schoolboy’s fancy. She will think it is only done for amusement—a little building model, cleverly constructed. We can then talk to her about it without embarrassment, in a jocular way. Then after dinner we will propose to her to go and see Paul’s house.”
And so matters were arranged.
Paul slept but little during this night, though he had started very early from Paris, and had been using—in fact, over-using—his legs all day.
The 19th of May, 1872, at 9.40, Monsieur and Madame N—— were getting out of the train at X—— Station, where Monsieur de Gandelau was awaiting them with a new chaise. Twenty minutes after they were entering the court of the château. We need not dwell upon the embraces, the transport mingled with tears, that occupied the first minutes of their return.
Madame de Gandelau had arranged their rooms with all possible care, as if they were going to make a long stay at the château.
Of course the mother thought her daughter improved; Madame Marie considered Paul grown—almost a man, in fact, and Mademoiselle Lucie almost a young woman.
Thanks to Madame de Gandelau, Paul’s house was referred to during breakfast only as a matter of no importance. The adventures of travel and the war were talked of. After nearly two years’ absence subjects of conversation could not be wanting. But Paul was agitated and absent. His sister remarked it. Paul blushed up to his very eyes.