“That is true; but I am afraid you are weak with him. Well, I will speak to Monsieur Nisard, and he will talk to Jacques.”
She moved on, and Claire cried, eagerly: “Mamma, I am dying of impatience! Of whom is Léon thinking?”
“The young lady is Mademoiselle Bourget.”
“Mademoiselle Bourget!” exclaimed Claire, stupefied. “But—you do not mean the daughter of Monsieur Bourget, at Tours?”
“Precisely.”
“Léon! A Beaudrillart marry a Tours bourgeoise!”
“Is the idea so new to you?” demanded her mother, coldly. “For myself, I am satisfied. Poor Léon’s misfortunes have brought him many trials. With this marriage he will be able to pay off debts which otherwise would have hung round his neck for years, and be relieved from some of the privations which he has borne so nobly. Reflect whether it is not so.” Mlle. Claire marched towards the bridge, upright and frowning. It was Félicie who broke into gasping protestations.
“But you do not mean that terrible radical of a man who opposes all that is good and holy in the neighbourhood! Mamma, impossible! Say that it is impossible!”
“I believe that he is a radical.”
“An enemy of the Church.”