She never gives a thought to herself and her loneliness.
Madame Guibert always welcomed Jean almost maternally. When quite a little child he had played at Le Maupas as one of her own. He was the only son of a barrister, who was the glory of the Chambéry bar. An orphan at an early age, Jean had been brought up by rather an eccentric, original old uncle, brother to the boy’s mother, who forgot everybody, even his nephew, in his devotion to his garden. This M. Loigny lived near the town, on the Cognin road, in a little house smothered in roses. He cultivated his garden and edited a guide to the names of roses. Thus every minute of his life was taken up, and he never quite knew how long it was when Jean was away on duty in the Algerian Tirailleurs. When he came home every eighteen months on leave, his uncle immediately told him all about his latest discoveries in the rose family, thereby thinking he was giving him proofs of the greatest affection!
When Marcel and Paule appeared in the Avenue, Jean told them that they were expected at La Chênaie.
“And too,” he said to Marcel, “you owe Madame Dulaurens a call after the Battle of Flowers, don’t you? This is a good opportunity of paying it and getting a game of croquet at the same time.”
“That is true,” agreed the captain.
“You will come with us, Mademoiselle Paule?” asked Jean Berlier.
But Paule refused, saying she was in bad humor. Marcel looked at her sadly, and Jean regarded her with sympathetic curiosity. He remembered having played long ago in this same courtyard with a child of overflowing spirits, brighter and jollier than any boy. He now found in her place a young woman, reserved and proud, even in the company of playfellows. And yet he could not refrain from admiring her tall, graceful figure, slight but strong, and her dark eyes from which the light seemed to flash. He would like to have met on the old terms of friendship with his little Paule. In the presence of this cold and beautiful Paule he felt an awkwardness and a vague anxiety that he dared not analyse.
“Jean,” said Madame Guibert suddenly, “I want to scold you.”
“No, please, don’t scold me,” said the young man, putting on the grimace of a naughty child.
He was proverbially good-tempered, and the sight of him was enough to brighten the faces of all who knew him.