She spoke of it, however, to her daughters calmly one morning as they were walking home from mass.—Félicie anxiously inquired for her brother, who occasionally, though rarely, accompanied them, and was told that he had driven that morning into Tours.
“To Tours? And so early!”
“He finds himself very often in Tours of late,” remarked Claire, significantly.
“He will have been at mass at the cathedral.”
“There is some one, then, whom he wishes to see?” Claire continued. “Does he think of marrying?”
Félicie cried out: “Claire, how you talk!”
“Your brother has different notions from other young men,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, speaking, as her younger daughter detected, with an effort. “You are correct in supposing that he has an idea of marriage, and I am sure he is right. Good-morning, Martine. I did not see your eldest son at mass.”
“No, madame,” said the old woman, sadly; “he has come back from his soldiering saying things which would have made his father’s hair stand on end; and though I tell him that, even if matters are as his clever friends tell him, there’s always a chance that he will find Monsieur Abbé right after all, and then he will wish he had taken the precaution of going to mass, he won’t listen.”
“That is very bad,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, gravely. “You should not have him at home with the others, Martine.”
“Ah, madame, he is my son, and the good God gave him to me!”