“Look at me chattering away without helping you,” continued the woman. “Come inside; have a little glass of something, it will do you good. It warms the heart. Come in and rest for a minute.”
Madame Guibert got up, taking the hand which the woman held out to her.
“Thank you, Fanchon, thank you. I don’t want anything. There, I am all right again, you see. It was only a passing faintness. Your children are lovely. May God keep you, Fanchon! I don’t want to refuse you, but they are waiting for me at home. My daughter is very easily worried.”
“I would like to help you, Madame. One of these days I will bring you a dozen fresh eggs. Don’t say no, it will give me so much pleasure! Come along, children. If it had not been for the Doctor there would have been one less. My lot wouldn’t have been complete.”
“You are kind, Fanchon. Good-bye.”
At last she was able to continue on her way to Le Maupas. She walked slowly, stopping now and then to wipe her damp forehead, sickened at the thought of the news she had to bring. She did not know how long it took to go from Cognin up the hill which crosses the oakwood, but it must have been very long, for she arrived there as the sun was touching Mount Lépine and darting its shafts against the shield of leaves. A hundred times she felt she would never get back. Under the trees, however, she was grateful for the coolness of the shade and home seemed nearer. Like a wounded animal that measures its safety by the distance from its burrow, she made a last effort.
Marcel, leaning against the gate, was looking down the road. He saw his poor mother coming painfully up the road, her face crimson, her back bent, a picture of old age. He ran to her and when he came up, she burst into sobs. “My boy, my dear boy!” she gasped.
He had to support her, and he asked simply:
“Why did you not keep the carriage? You are tired. You are hot, Mother dear, it is not wise of you. Lean on my arm. We will go slowly.”
He helped her till she was seated in the drawing-room, wrapped in a shawl that Paule brought. Not another word had been spoken, and already everything had been told. With lowering brows and hard eyes Marcel was silent. He had understood at the first look, and although the blow was unexpected he was too proud to complain. He asked for no explanation.