"It was that very thing that influenced me," answered the baroness. "There is something so interesting in such a proud refusal on the part of a poor person; besides, this young girl had such a charming dignity of manner that I was forced, even against my better judgment, to make her the offer you censure, my dear sister."
"Pride should never be considered other than reprehensible," said Helena, sanctimoniously. "It is the worst of the seven great sins. Pride is the exact opposite of Christian humility, without which there is no salvation," she added, "and I fear this girl will exert a most pernicious influence over Ernestine de Beaumesnil."
Madame de la Rochaiguë smiled faintly as she stole a furtive glance at her husband, who gave a slight shrug of the shoulders, which indicated pretty plainly how little respect he felt for Helena's opinions.
Long accustomed to regard this devotee as a nonentity, the baron and his wife never for a moment supposed that this narrow-minded, bigoted old maid, who never lost her temper, no matter how great the provocation might be, and who did not utter a dozen words in the course of a day, could ever have a thought beyond those connected with the performance of her religious duties.
"We will think over your suggestion, my dear sister," said the baroness, suavely. "After all, we have made no binding contract with this young person. Your remarks, however, seem to form a natural introduction to the subject of this conference."
Instantly the baron sprang up, and turned his chair around so he could rest his hands upon the back of it, and also ensure himself the ample space which his parliamentary attitudes and oratorical gestures demanded. Already, slipping his hand in the breast of his coat, and swaying his right arm to and fro, he was preparing to speak, when his wife said, impatiently:
"Pardon me, M. de la Rochaiguë, but you must really do me the favour to let your chair alone and sit down. You can express your opinion without any flights of oratory. It will be much better to talk this matter over in a plain matter-of-fact way without indulging in any perorations. Reserve your oratorical powers for the tribune which you are sure to reach sooner or later, and resign yourself to-day to talking like a man of tact and common sense. If you do not, I shall interrupt you every other minute."
The baron knew by experience how deeply his wife loathed a speech, so he turned his chair around again and subsided into it with a sigh.
"Ernestine will arrive this evening, so we must decide upon the course we are to pursue," began the baroness.
"Yes, that is absolutely necessary," replied the baron, "for everything depends upon our harmonious action. We must have the blindest, most entire, most implicit confidence in each other."