"Yes," Laure answered, "every day."
"Ah!" sighed the happy mother. "How Monsieur Legrand must adore you!"
At length she found time to ask a few questions concerning Valentin.
"I know that he is well and as prosperous as one could expect him to be; but I hope"—bridling a little with great seriousness—"I hope he conducts himself in such a manner as to cause you no embarrassment, though naturally you do not see him often."
"No," was the answer,—they did not see him often.
"Well, well," began Mère Giraud, becoming lenient in her great happiness, "he is not a bad lad—Valentin. He means well"—
But here she stopped,—Laure checked her with a swift, impassioned movement.
"He is what we cannot understand," she said in a hushed, strained voice. "He is a saint. He has no thought for himself. His whole life is a sacrifice. It is not I you should adore—it is Valentin."
"Valentin!" echoed Mère Giraud.
It quite bewildered her, the mere thought of adoring Valentin.