Bijou looked up, and Jean de Blaye remarked:
"He is leaving here? Why, it seemed as though he had taken root in this part of the world."
"Oh," put in M. de Rueille, "old Clagny's roots are never very deep."
Bijou turned towards the marchioness.
"When is he leaving, grandmamma?" she asked anxiously.
"Why, at once; to-morrow, I think. Anyhow, we shall see him to-night at Tourville; he is going to the ball in order to see everyone to whom he wants to say good-bye."
"And he is not going to the races?"
"No, he is busy packing."
"And our play to-morrow!" exclaimed Denyse, in consternation. "He had promised me over and over again to come to it."
The marchioness glanced at her grand-daughter, and said to herself that, decidedly, even with the kindest heart in the world, youth knows no pity.