"Where is Monsieur Legrand?" she ventured at last.
"He is," said Laure, in a hesitant voice,—"he is in Normandy."
"Shall I not see him?" asked Mère Giraud.
"I am afraid not, unless your visit is a long one. He will be absent for some months."
She did not speak with any warmth. It was as if she did not care to speak of him at all,—as if the mention of him even embarrassed her a little.
Mère Giraud felt a secret misgiving.
"I shall not stay long," she said; "but I could not remain away. I wished so eagerly to see you, and know that you were happy. You are happy, my Laure?"
Laure turned toward her and gave her a long look—a look which seemed unconsciously to ask her a question.
"Happy!" she answered slowly and deliberately, "I suppose so. Yes."
Mère Giraud caressed her hand again and again. "Yes," she said, "it must be so. The good are always happy; and you, my Laure, have always been dutiful and virtuous, and consequently you are rewarded. You have never caused me a grief, and now, thank the good God you are prosperous." She looked at her almost adoringly, and at last touched the soft thick gray velvet of her drapery with reverence. "Do you wear such things as this every day?" she asked.