"Raoul, Raoul," said Raoul's mother, very white.
But Raoul, up the steps in two bounds, did not hear her. "If only it may be! How we've hoped it! Oh, sir, do you really think it?"
Anne Marie's mother had put her parasol and Mass book down on the broad stone balustrade of the terrace. She stooped over and took up one of the papers that lay on the flags.
"It can't be," she said, reading. She spread the paper out on the top of the balustrade and stood pulling off her gloves as she read. "It can't be," she said again, pulling off first one soft grey glove and then the other.
"It can't be," said Raoul's mother, always looking at Raoul.
Anne Marie's father, beginning to pace the terrace again, said, "It will be, it will be!"
Raoul said, "It's got to be," standing very straight and looking at nobody.
Anne Marie thought, oh dear, oh dear, now they will talk and talk; and she had so wanted Raoul to stay with her down in the garden.