“This long preamble, madame,” resumed the princess with dignity, “exposes the past in order to justify the future.”
“Really, aunt, such mysterious proceedings are a little in the style of the answers of the Cumaean Sybil. They must be intended to cover something formidable.”
“Perhaps, mademoiselle—for to certain characters nothing is so formidable as duty and obedience. Your character is one of those inclined to revolt—”
“I freely acknowledge it, aunt—and it will always be so, until duty and obedience come to me in a shape that I can respect and love.”
“Whether you respect and love my orders or not, madame,” said the princess, in a curt, harsh voice, “you will, from to-day, from this moment, learn to submit blindly and absolutely to my will. In one word, you will do nothing without my permission: it is necessary, I insist upon it, and so I am determined it shall be.”
Adrienne looked at her aunt for a second, and then burst into so free and sonorous a laugh, that it rang for quite a time through the vast apartment. D’Aigrigny and Baron Tripeaud started in indignation. The princess looked angrily at her niece. The doctor raised his eyes to heaven, and clasped his hands over his waistcoat with a sanctimonious sigh.
“Madame,” said Abbe d’Aigrigny, “such fits of laughter are highly unbecoming. Your aunt’s words are serious, and deserve a different reception.”
“Oh, sir!” said Adrienne, recovering herself, “it is not my fault if I laugh. How can I maintain my gravity, when I hear my aunt talking of blind submission to her orders? Is the swallow, accustomed to fly upwards and enjoy the sunshine, fledged to live with the mole in darkness?”
At this answer, D’Aigrigny affected to stare at the other members of this kind of family council with blank astonishment.
“A swallow? what does she mean?” asked the abbe of the baron making a sign, which the latter understood.