She looked round the quiet room. Some fruit was boiling on a stove, giving out a fragrant savour, and Elise's eye was on it mechanically. A bit of sewing lay across a chair, and on the wall hung a military suit of the old sergeant, beside it a short sabre. An old Tricolor was draped from a beam, and one or two maps of France were pinned on the wall. She fastened her look on the maps. They seemed to be her cue.
"Have you any influence with your uncle?" she asked.
Elise remained gloomily silent.
"Because," Madame Chalice went on smoothly, ignoring her silence,
"I think it would be better for him to go back to Ville Bambord—
I am sure of it."
The girl's lip curled angrily. What right had this great lady to interfere with her or hers? What did she mean?
"My uncle is a general and a brave man; he can take care of himself," she answered defiantly. Madame Chalice did not smile at the title. She admired the girl's courage. She persisted however. "He is one man, and—"
"He has plenty of men, madame, and His Excellency—"
"His Excellency and hundreds of men cannot stand, if the Government send soldiers against them."
"Why should the Gover'ment do that? They're only going to France; they mean no trouble here."
"They have no right to drill and conspire here, my girl."