“Félicie, you are too foolish with your pilgrimages!” Claire was beginning, impatiently, when Mme. de Beaudrillart stopped her.
“Do not vex your sister. It is very certain that we want all the prayers and the help we can have, and perhaps—” Suddenly she flung up her hands and clasped her head. “Oh, Léon, my poor Léon! To lose Poissy!”
This little action in one hitherto so confident gave her daughters a shock; they seemed for the first time to realise the full force of the disaster hanging over their family, and to comprehend that it was close at hand. Claire stood up right, her face hard and set; Félicie pushed away her embroidery-frame, and broke into sobs. But the next moment Mme. de Beaudrillart’s strong will reasserted itself, and she lifted her head rigidly.
“This is weak,” she said. “Félicie, go on with your work. Claire, send Rose-Marie to my room, and see whether Pierre has called for the letters. Do not on any account allow him to leave without mine.”
All that day the sisters talked together; if without much sympathy, yet with that certain amount which a close tie of relationship must bring in such a crisis. Their mother remained absolutely silent. She took up one thing after another, and laid each down with restless unquiet; more than once walked without apparent purpose to the window, and stood mutely looking out. Poissy had never been fuller of charm. Young spring was at work beautifying the old château; a sweet, clear sunlight fell upon the delicate turret, and flung light shadows along the open stone-work with which it was fretted. Over a doorway was carved the Beaudrillart escutcheon, and a slender tuft of grass waved audaciously from a crevice above. If, as she looked, there was agony in Mme. de Beaudrillart’s heart, she made no sign. Only Claire noticed how tightly her hands were locked together and her lips compressed; but even Claire, whose feelings most resembled hers, dared not touch again upon the subject near all their hearts, although there was more than one question which she longed to have answered. Visitors came, and she received them as usual—even talking undauntedly of certain improvements which her son contemplated making about the château.
“Monsieur de Beaudrillart does not, however, spend much time here?” asked one lady, curiously. Like others in the neighbourhood, she had heard rumours, and her visit was in a great measure due to a desire to know how much was true. “Apparently he finds it dull?”
“I hope we may see more of him in the future,” returned the mother, looking at her without shrinking.
“I am glad of it; he is always so pleasant! What can we do to keep him? I said to my husband that his family should persuade him to marry, for nowadays there are always plenty of girls going about with really fine fortunes; and he need not be particular as to family,” she added, with a laugh. “He, if any one, could afford a roturier for his father-in-law.”
“I agree with you,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, calmly; “but I am afraid that a fortune has no attraction for Léon. He is unlike other young men, for he was born with romantic ideas, and I, for one, cannot wish it to be otherwise.”
“She could hardly have been so cool if all we have heard is true,” said Mme. de la Ferraye to her husband, as they drove away. “She talked of his return, and even of improvements to the estate. I cannot believe the rumour. It is incredible!”