“That is what I should like to know,” sighed Jean.
Madame Dulaurens pointed to the vanishing figure of the girl after Jean and Isabelle had outdistanced the first group whom she was leading to the drawing-room.
“Instead of blaming her, I quite approve of what she has done. This marriage shows her great strength of character. After all, she has no fortune.”
The chorus of rich friends quite agreed with this remark. Encouraged, she continued, after throwing a careful glance behind her:
“Look at Paule Guibert, on the other hand. She wouldn’t marry M. Landeau. Not a penny, and such a deadly creature! How can you expect her ever to marry?”
“Still,” said one lady, “her father sacrificed all his property to save his brother. It was splendid.”
“To save the name of Guibert? It would have been better if he had saved his money. Who remembers anything about it now?”
“Forgetfulness is quicker than death,” remarked a sententious male guest.
Madame Dulaurens went on: “Poor Paule was much admired by Lieutenant Sinard at a costume ball I gave a few years ago—before the doctor’s death. He was very serious about it. But he came in for three hundred thousand francs. Of course, after that, he had quite different ideas.”
“Oh, well, of course,” chimed in the chorus of the faithful, “he could never again think of her.”