Her small features took an expression of beatitude, but of beatitude that suffers unjustly. She said:
“I do not often complain, but indeed, Monsieur Georges, you cannot fail to see that Claire is so—so determined that one does not dare to oppose her. If I say anything of which she does not approve, there is really such a storm that I prefer to be silent.”
“Mademoiselle Claire is suffering acutely, I am sure,” he returned, with a loyal impulse of defence.
“We all suffer,” said Félicie, uttering a sound between a gasp and a sob; “but I have always learned that our own sufferings should not either absorb us or render us harsh to others. No one can have felt this affliction more than I, but I try to rouse myself and to draw good out of a terrible dispensation, as the abbé advised. I assure you, monsieur, that I have much, very much, to endure from Claire.”
He murmured sympathy.
“If it were not for the relief of having you here to talk things over with, I do not think I could bear it at all. Figure to yourself, monsieur, that she prophesies all manner of terrible humiliations for us in the future! She says we can never again hold up our heads, and she has quite made up her mind that no visitors shall be ever admitted. I do not know myself that I could bear to see Mme. Lemballe; she has a small mind, and it is quite possible that she might permit herself to say something disagreeable. And just at present, of course, I am ready to sacrifice myself for our poor dear Léon. But—never! Never! Conceive how terribly doll to be cut off from all society, and to be unable to go to the houses of our friends when I have any church collection on hand. Oh, monsieur, the thought is unendurable. I would rather die!”
Into the quiet current of M. Georges’s thoughts at this instant there dashed an idea so wild and unwarrantable that he blushed violently, and was seized with a sudden tremor lest it might be read in his face. Could such a thing be possible? Oh, never, never! He chased it out, and to hide his embarrassment murmured something to the effect that Raoul’s line was caught in the weeds, and hurried to the boy.
“Go away,” said Raoul immovably, his whole being concentrated upon the trout as to which M. Georges had so basely deceived him.
“I think now it must have been higher up that Antoine meant,” said that gentleman, meekly. Raoul was on his feet in a moment.
“Then why did you say he was here?” he demanded, dragging at his tutor’s hand. “Come along. Aunt Félie, you mustn’t come; you keep Monsieur Georges from attending.”