He then related all the episodes of the previous Monday, with the exception, however, of the decisive appearance of Uncle Cyprien.
Thérèse listened quietly. When he had finished, she looked up. Her thin lips met in sarcastic contraction. Anger was gathering under her heavy frown. She asked him:
“Are you going?”
“Well, since I promised her!... I shall go two or three Thursdays.... The most elementary courtesy requires it.... Later, I shall see whether I should continue or not.”
“Very good, father!” she replied, disguising with difficulty the trembling she felt in her voice. “Just as you say.... You may be sure I would not presume to give you my advice....”
“But if I were to ask you for it?” M. Raindal said pluckily.
She burst out.
“If you were to ask me, I would tell you that this Mme. Chambannes is a little fool, that her set is extremely frivolous, that those you are taking up with will bring you nothing but unpleasantness and affronts.... I would tell you.... But, no, father, my respect commands me to be silent.”
The tips of her fingers rose and fell on her crossed arms, like two palpitating wings.
“Oh, ho! We are getting excited!” M. Raindal replied, as if he felt jocular. “Phew! If I remember rightly, little girl, you were not so severe on the evening of the ball.... Do you recollect, after dinner?...”