The silence became unendurable and Horace, uncomfortable in the tension, blundered into the breaking of it.
"Madame," he hazarded, "about Deschamps?"
She turned her head slightly to listen.
The boy had a sudden plan.
"If you could come with me to tell his folks?" he pleaded timidly.
The expression and manner of the master's wife changed on the instant. From the personification of vengeance, she turned to tenderness and sympathy.
"Dear lad," she said, at once, "it is a hard thing for you to do, is it not? I will come at once. Shall I tell them, or will you?"
"If, Madame," begged Horace, "you could speak. I—I—" he broke off, with a lump in his throat. "You see, Madame, Deschamps and I were chums."
"I understand," she answered softly. "I will tell them, as gently as I can, and you will answer what they ask you. Is not that best?"
