“A distant cousin, and Léon once was under a certain obligation to him.”
“Ah,” said Claire, “at that time when there was such a panic as to Léon’s affairs? I begin to understand. So it was Monsieur de Cadanet who came to the rescue? Félicie, will you kindly pass the fruit?”
“He had good reason for doing so,” returned her mother. “You know, or perhaps you don’t know, that he was under great obligations to your father, so that he could not very well have refused. And I do not fancy that he behaved very graciously, for Léon does not speak of him with warmth. However—he did his duty, and he is dead.”
Félicie bent her head, and murmured a little prayer for the repose of the soul of M. de Cadanet. When she had finished, Claire said, as she peeled a pear:
“His death is not likely to make much difference to us—ah, here is Raoul! Come to me, treasure!”
“One moment,” interposed Nathalie, firmly. She led the little boy to Félicie. “Now, dear Raoul.”
“Ne veux pas,” whispered Claire in his ear, with a laugh. He looked at her, and glanced at his mother.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not very sorry, Aunt Félie.” Then he threw his arms round Nathalie’s neck. “Will that do? Shall we go to Tours, and may I have the reins?”
Mme. de Beaudrillart said, hastily:
“Not Tours again, I hope. It really is not at all good for the child to pass so much of his time in the close streets of a town. Pray, for once leave him with us. I know, too, that they have fever there.”