In her heart she cried out against God’s justice. What! Could not those changed years atone? Could not her prayers, Félicie’s devotions, gain grace! Were the faults of his youth to meet him now—now when he was living a blameless life; now when he was the father of an innocent boy? Nathalie she passed over. To her it might be a grief, but she would not feel the pang of a dishonoured name, that, worse than death itself, would hang round Raoul’s neck all his life long. She hated M. Bourget, blaming her own triumphant assurance which allowed him to assist in her search for the papers. If she had gone alone, if that incident of the empty envelope had not come to his knowledge, she could have braved it out by taking the blame on herself. She even distrusted him, not understanding that though differing in form, in degree her pride in Poissy was equalled by his. And yet, she was so terribly alone, and this man knew! Before she realised what she was about, she had faltered an entreaty to him for silence, and was met by an uncomprehending stare. She bowed her head.
“What I mean, monsieur, is that it may do mischief to speak of this affair before my son has stopped it.”
“I speak of it!” cried M. Bourget, irritably. “You don’t seem to understand that I would give ten years of my life to be certain that it would never set tongues wagging! I, madame! What do you take me for? I! Shall you gossip yourself?”
Fear had shaken her. She murmured that he was not one of the family. His wave of the hand had a dignity she had never seen in him before.
“Do I claim to be? But my daughter, madame, is as much a Beaudrillart as yourself, and my grandson more than either. Our interests are identical.”
Under the shock of these words Mme. de Beaudrillart revived.
“Be it so, monsieur,” she said. “It appears to me that for the present we must wait until we know more. If we move, we may only cause mischief, and I would beg of you to give up any idea of going to Paris. I believe that matters will arrange themselves. You have of course breakfasted?”
He had left his house at a moment’s notice, and began to feel the need of food. Mme. de Beaudrillart rang, and gave orders for it to be spread in the dining-room at once, requesting further that Mlle. Claire might be sent for. She felt the need of support, and yet dreaded lest Claire’s sharp tongue might exasperate this man, who already began to represent h power. She need not have feared. M. Bourget felt little of, and cared for less, the prickly darts which Mlle. Claire let fly. He enraged her by his indifference, but in the middle of his hearty meal on red-legged partridges, he demanded Raoul, and though she would have made some excuse, her mother gave a peremptory order that he should be found. When he arrived, Mme. de Beaudrillart wondered that she had not thought before of taking refuge in his chatter.
Still, it had its awkwardnesses. He was bent upon showing his grandfather everything. Had he seen this, had he seen that! Why was it that he did not come oftener to Poissy? Would he come to the river directly? Mamma had made him promise not to go there by himself; but she would not mind if bon père took him.
“Do not be tiresome, Raoul!” said his aunt, sharply. M. Bourget opened his eyes at the idea.