Paul seemed changed, though she could hardly tell in what way. He seemed more spirited, and his words and tones were more manly.
"By the way, mamma, we are going on another excursion and I sha'n't come to Les Peuples next Sunday, as you have come to see me to-day," he said, all at once, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Jeanne felt as much surprised and stunned as if he had told her he was going to America; then, when she was again able to speak:
"Oh, Poulet," she exclaimed, "what is the matter with you? Tell me what is going on."
He laughed and gave her a kiss.
"Why, nothing at all, mamma. I am only going to enjoy myself with some friends, as everyone does at my age."
She made no reply, but when she was alone in the carriage, her head was filled with new and strange ideas. She had not recognized her Poulet, her little Poulet, as of old; she perceived for the first time that he was grown up, that he was no longer hers, that henceforth he was going to live his own life, independently of the old people. To her he seemed to have changed entirely in a day. What! Was this strong, bearded, firm-willed lad her son, her little child who used to make her help him plant his lettuces?
Paul only came to Les Peuples at very long intervals for the next three months, and even when he was there, it was only too plain that he longed to get away again as soon as possible, and that, each evening, he tried to leave an hour earlier. Jeanne imagined all sorts of things, while the baron tried to console her by saying: "There, let him alone, the boy is twenty years old, you know."
One morning, a shabbily dressed old man who spoke with a German accent asked for "Matame la vicomtesse." He was shown in, and, after a great many ceremonious bows, pulled out a dirty pocketbook, saying:
"I have a leetle paper for you," and then unfolded, and held out a greasy scrap of paper.