“Your father never reproached me for that. However, I deserve it, I daresay. But I am too old to change, and these people treated me without consideration.”
Marcel, sullen and ashamed of himself, went out without saying anything to lessen the harshness of his words.
Paule during this scene had stood motionless and very pale. Now she threw herself into her mother’s arms and kissed her passionately:
“Mother, don’t cry. Oh, how I despise them! And Marcel is so unjust. It was hateful what he said just now!”
Her eyes shone with sombre fire. Madame Guibert kept back her tears and said:
“No, Paule, you must not despise anyone. And be patient with your brother. Don’t you see that he is suffering? Go look for him.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE CONSPIRATORS
In the garden at Le Maupas, where the roses were fading in the shadow of the yellowing chestnut boughs, Marcel and Jean Berlier were poring over a map of Africa spread out on the slate table.
“Here is the road we must take,” said the Captain, and he showed a series of little red crosses marked out on the Sahara desert.
With boyish enthusiasm Jean asked: “Then the expedition is really decided on this time?”