“Yes, I suppose so,” Mme. Raindal replied.
Mme. Boudois confirmed these presumptions. There was her husband, for instance; God knew he had his sea-legs and sailed up and down the seas every summer, at Langrune, in a fisherma boat. Well, her husband never could waltz; he felt giddy at once.
On the other hand, Mme. Lebercq was no sailor but had been able to bear dancing without inconvenience when she was young.
A silence followed and Mme. Chambannes began again:
“The party was charming, was it not?”
“Delightful!” Mme. Raindal admitted.
Mme. Boudois and Mme. Lebercq asked for details, and received them. But at the turning point of a sentence, the conversation was directed toward another subject. Mme. Boudois spoke of the forthcoming festivities of Advent. She advised Mme. Raindal to attend some of the Benedictions of the Host at Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas, where the Noël O would be sung with rare brilliancy. Mme. Raindal rather preferred those of Saint-Étienne-du-Mont. The discussion grew quite heated. Mme. Lebercq, who was not devout, remained silent. Mme. Chambannes, ill at ease at this talk of things that were mysteries to her, examined the pattern of the red and black carpet around which the arm-chairs were disposed.
She took advantage of a pause for breath and asked:
“Would it be indiscreet to disturb the master and your daughter?... I would be so glad to say how do you do to them!”