“How interesting!” the young woman murmured dreamily.
Behind her, Thérèse stamped the floor with impatience. She started when she heard Mme. Chambannes proceed:
“And now, my dear master, I have a small favor to ask of you.... Are you free in a fortnight, on December 12th?”
“Well, Madame!...” M. Raindal stammered, trying hard to guess, in spite of his poor eyesight, the meaning of the grimaces Thérèse was making at him.
“Because, if you were free, you would do me great honor and give me much pleasure if you would dine with me at my house.”
M. Raindal bowed.
“Hm! Hm!... Certainly, Madame.... I can ask Mme. Raindal.... At least, I do not think she is engaged for that evening....”
He turned to his daughter.
“Is it not so, dear? Your mother has not, so far as I know....”
Thérèse cut his sentence short with the brutal admission: