“Well,” said Léon, smiling again. “I know that stuff of old. It is magical.”
“For your family, yes.”
“You think it would not cure Monsieur Bourget!”
“It will not have the chance,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, quietly. She was replacing the glass and bottle in the cupboard when a thought struck her. “By-the-way, Léon—”
“Yes.”
“You have never given me Monsieur de Cadanet’s acknowledgment of the five hundred francs you forwarded; and as I keep all the receipts together, I should be glad to have it.” There was a short silence. Then Léon stretched himself, got up, and went to the window, the kitten in his arms.
“Ah,” he said, “he has not sent any.”
“Not sent any! But why?”
“Who can tell? Monsieur de Cadanet appeared to me to be an eccentric. Perhaps he thinks the sum too trifling. Perhaps he is conveniently forgetful—perhaps—oh, we need not worry. He has received it, without doubt.”
“I do not like it,” said Mme. de Beaudrillart, frowning.