“His grandfather expects to see him every week,” replied Nathalie, in a quiet tone.
Mme. de Beaudrillart hated to hear M. Bourget called “his grandfather.”
“That may be,” she said, “but I think my wishes might also be respected. Raoul, would you not rather remain here and let Jean drive you?”
“No,” said Raoul, sturdily. “And I shall go to Tours, because mother promised.”
“Ah, it is a pity your mother spoils you,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, rising, and looking displeased. “May I ask when you start!”
“At once,” Nathalie answered, “so as to be at home when Léon arrives.”
“I shall want him to walk with me.”
“Certainly, madame.” As her mother-in-law left the room, Mme. Léon took up her husband’s letters, which lay on the table. “Such a black border!” she remarked, looking at one of them. “These letters of announcement always give one a shiver.”
“That need not, at any rate, for it does not concern you,” said Claire, carelessly. “I suppose you have scarcely heard of old Monsieur de Cadanet, in Paris?”
“Léon and I were speaking of him only yesterday. Is he dead?”