“Thank you, mother,—only not two days together. One gets tired of luxuries, you know! And now, let us talk of what we shall do to-morrow—Sunday. We must be very merry, for the last few days you seem very sad, dear mother, and I can’t make it out—I fancy you are not satisfied with me.”
“Oh, my dear child!—you—the pattern of—”
“Well, well! Prove to me that you are happy, then, by taking a little amusement. Perhaps you will do us the honor of accompanying us, as you did last time,” added Agricola, bowing to Mother Bunch.
The latter blushed and looked down; her face assumed an expression of bitter grief, and she made no reply.
“I have the prayers to attend all day, you know, my dear child,” said Frances to her son.
“Well, in the evening, then? I don’t propose the theatre; but they say there is a conjurer to be seen whose tricks are very amusing.
“I am obliged to you, my son; but that is a kind of theatre.”
“Dear mother, this is unreasonable!”
“My dear child, do I ever hinder others from doing what they like?”
“True, dear mother; forgive me. Well, then, if it should be fine, we will simply take a walk with Mother Bunch on the Boulevards. It is nearly three months since she went out with us; and she never goes out without us.”