The glow of satisfaction which Madame Ribot had enjoyed during the gallantries of the General and the Count soon passed when she was behind the scenes. Between directions to the maid and continual changes of mind as to what she would and would not have packed, she scolded the war.
"Why couldn't the préfect or the army authorities have told us in time, so we could have got away like Christians?" she grumbled. "Wasn't it their business to know that the Germans were coming? It's shameful, indecent, barbarous! Well?"—this last irritably in answer to a rap at her door. "Come in!"
When she saw that it was Helen her frown deepened. It was a petulant frown which would have surprised the Count and the General; yet, perhaps it would not. They were wise old men, particularly the General.
"More bad news?" exclaimed Madame Ribot. She had been used to regarding Helen as a harbinger of bad news since her birth. "It must be! You look as if you regarded the whole thing as a lark. Of course you would. Everything goes by contraries with you!" she continued. "Well?"
Helen was elate, despite the scene with Henriette; elate with decision.
"I came to ask a favour," she said. It was hardly a diplomatic beginning, considering her mother's state of mind.
"A favour! At this time! That is like you, too."
"Some one ought to look after the house while we are gone," Helen went on hurriedly.
"Jacqueline—and the mayor and the curé. What do we have officials and priests for?"
"I meant myself, too."