“Your cloak!” repeated her daughter, depreciatingly. “Is that necessary? You suffer so much from the cold, and the old one is so thin!”
“It cannot be helped.” Mme. de Beaudrillart spoke with sharp impatience. “I am quite aware of what you say; but if Monsieur Georges and the other men have ruined Léon, we must take our share in his suffering.”
“Poor Monsieur Georges! I really believe he did his utmost for the property.”
“Do not talk of what you do not understand,” said her mother, coldly. “What do you know about business matters? You might judge from the results.”
Claire, however, persisted.
“I am certain he was not dishonest.”
“If he was not dishonest, he was a fool, which is as dangerous.”
“Shall you write to our poor Léon to-day, mamma?” asked Félicie, turning tear-laden eyes towards her.
“Certainly. He will expect it. Dear fellow, I shall tell him that we are ready to make every possible effort, every sacrifice, and implore him not to afflict himself, because there can be no doubt that something will be arranged.”
“But you will not say anything against the pilgrimage?”