She placed great reliance on the General. He said that there was no danger. This time the tables would be turned on the Prussians. She, too, believed in a French victory. It was not as it had been in '70. The French were ready. Where could the war disturb her as little as at Mervaux, in the lap of the hills a mile away from the main road?
"Then I'll go, mother," said Helen. The objections to Henriette's going to Paris could not apply to her.
"No, we shall all stay here," Madame Ribot replied.
"But I have my thousand francs," said Helen. "I'll run up for only two or three days."
"No. You would not go when I thought it best," said Madame Ribot pettishly. "Now when I need you, you want to go. You were always very contrary."
"Oh—I—forgive me! I did not know that you thought of it in that way—that you needed me."
"We must all be together. I should worry about you."
"Of course you would! I didn't think of that. Oh, mother!"
It was something new in her mother's voice which sent her across the room to put her arm around her mother's neck and press her own cheek against hers. Helen had been hungry for affection all her life, plain girls being quite human and wanting what they do not receive. In answer she had a pressure of her hand which was real, and she kissed her mother again and again on the cheek. Perhaps her mother had always loved her, but had not shown it.
Madame Ribot felt the tight grip of her daughter's hand with a sense of reassurance. There was something strong about Helen. She would be dependable in a crisis.