Icily Thérèse replied.
“Do not take this trouble, Madame.... My father will not receive.”
“Not even his intimate friends?”
“No, madame!... His intentions are formal.... There will be no exception for anyone.”
“Not even for me?” Zozé insisted, with a mock sweetness that was really a challenge.
Her languorous eyes seemed to smile, to elaborate on the question: “I, you know, I, Mme. Chambannes; I who took him away from you.... your father; I who hold him, who make him do what I want.”
The provocation caused Thérèse to become very pale. “Not even for you, madame!” she said with self-restraint.... “Father has decided to keep very strict mourning and I trust that no one will attempt to make him change his mind.”
“So then, you will prevent him from seeing his friends?”
Thérès trembling fingers were opening and shutting on the back of an armchair. “We shall not prevent him from doing anything at all, Madame.... I am surprised to hear you using such expressions.... You must have learned in the last six months that our wishes are of little importance against those of my father....”
“What do you mean, mademoiselle?” Zozé said, with that impertinent phlegm which is often the only resource of worldly women when engaged in a discussion.