When she heard the vagabond mentioned, Reine blushed again, and Honorât could scarcely repress a gesture of indignation.
Raimond V. continued:
“Dame Dulceline is enchanted with him; she tells me that, thanks to him, she will have a magnificent cradle for Christmas. But you have heard him sing, my daughter, what do you think of it? Because I am a bad judge, I am not acquainted with any songs but those the abbé sings, and our old Provençal refrains. Is it true that this wanderer has a wonderful voice?”
Wishing to put an end to a conversation which, for many reasons, was painful to her, Reine replied to her father:
“No doubt, he sings very well. I have scarcely heard him. But if you wish to do so, father, we will take our promenade; it is two o’clock already, and the days are short.”
The baron descended, followed by his daughter. In passing through the court, he saw through the half-open door of the coach-house the ancient and heavy carriage he always used when he attended service in the parochial church of La Ciotat, at the solemn festivals of the year, although he had his own chapel at Maison-Forte.
Knowing the kind of antipathy which prevailed against him in the little city, the bold and obstinate old baron took the ingenious idea of braving public opinion by going to church next day with a certain pomp.
Reine’s astonishment was unspeakable when she heard her father order Laramée to have this, carriage ready next day at midday, the hour of high mass.
To every question of his daughter, the baron replied only by a persistent silence.
Now let us return to less important actors.