While the La Ferrayes were taking leave, Mme. de Beaudrillart stood rigidly unbending; but as soon as they were gone she hurriedly left the room.
“Poor mamma!” cried Félicie, her eyes filling with ready tears.
“That woman came from curiosity,” Claire said, pacing up and down indignantly; “she has heard something, and meant to worm it out of us. It is too horrible that Léon’s affairs should be the common gossip of the country!”
“Claire,” faltered her sister.
“Well?”
“Do you—do you think it even possible that we might have to—to leave Poissy?”
“Monsieur Georges feared it long ago. But I cannot believe it,” said Claire, clinching her hands. “Poissy without a Beaudrillart! No—it will not be permitted!”
“Heaven will not interfere if Léon fails in his promises to the Church,” sobbed Félicie. With her the family will, not so openly apparent, took refuge in a gentle obstinacy, which was perhaps more irritating. “I believe these misfortunes are sent as a chastisement for my having listened to you, and not left the world when Père Roget spoke to me about it. I am certain that I had a vocation, and then what might I not have gained for Léon! I wonder where we shall live? In Tours? Imagine losing the Abbé Nisard as one’s director!”
“Oh, be quiet, Félicie, or you will drive me mad! How can you think, how can you talk, of these horrible possibilities? Something must be done. If only I were a man!”
“Why?” asked her sister, opening her eyes.