“Monsieur Bourget will, I am sure, excuse me, if I leave him to the care of my son and Madame Léon. There will be coffee later in the drawing-room. Come, Claire!”
“No, mamma, I remain.” She added in a slightly lowered tone, “Some one must protect our poor Poissy.”
Félicie, with downcast eyes, rose to follow her mother, when a shout in her ear made her start violently.
“Try syringing, mademoiselle. That did me a great deal of good.” He added, to Nathalie, “You should look after your sister. I can see she wants rousing and fresh air, and eats no more than a fly. Now, Monsieur de Beaudrillart, I am at your service.”
He was completely in his element when going over the château, with the eye of a lynx for whatever was wanting, and an absolute horror for the tiny plants which, thrusting their rootlets between the stones, added so much grace to the walls. Where they were within reach he dragged them ruthlessly out, in spite of Claire’s remonstrances.
“Oh yes, mademoiselle, very pretty, and all the rest of it, no doubt; but do you know what they effect, these little mischief-makers? It is they that loosen the stones, and bring the walls of Poissy rattling about the ears of those that come after you. And it is those others of whom we have to think,” he announced loudly, proceeding to demolish a small tuft of harts-tongue, by prodding it with the point of his stick. “For myself, I have no doubt that the whole building should be scraped. However, at any rate, Monsieur de Beaudrillart, you will set about what is necessary at once.”
Léon, catching sight of his sister’s face, felt his own momentary irritation subside. Besides, were not Nathalie’s eyes imploring him?
“Certainly,” he said, quietly. “You have, no doubt, the right, Monsieur Bourget, to speak.”
“Ah, and I know what I am talking about, too. See here, monsieur, Poissy is as dear to me as to you.”
“Really? You do us too much honour.”