“We will fix the wedding for any day you choose,” said she.
At this sentence, which gave a very present reality to the dreaded event, Alice shuddered and in a heartrending voice entreated:
“No, no, I can’t do it. Oh, mother, mother!”
Madame Dulaurens was stupefied by this simultaneous blow at her affection and her will. But woman of the world as she was, she thought the time for an explanation badly chosen.
“Dear heart, be calm. I quite understand your feelings. It will all be arranged. It is just lunch-time, and our friends are arriving. Dry your tears quickly, do, dear. Trust in your mother.”
Alice had succeeded in regaining her calm when a servant announced that Madame and Mademoiselle Orlandi were in the drawing-room.
As she went down first to receive her visitors, Madame Dulaurens reflected. She was not unduly disturbed by Alice’s strange refusal, seeing in it only one of those girlish whims which spring up so easily and as quickly die again. But she felt she knew the cause and blamed herself.
“It was I who brought Captain Guibert here,” she thought. “It is all my fault. And what an absurd idea to ask him here to lunch to-day!”
In her anger against the young man, in whom she already saw the obstacle to her plans, she was not far from considering herself his benefactress and accusing him therefore of ingratitude, because she attached no little importance to her invitations as a passport to celebrity for her guests.
After lunch, Madame Dulaurens was unable to repress a certain new disquiet. Looking for Alice, as she kept doing constantly, she saw her through the drawing-room window, going towards the oakwood on Paule Guibert’s arm.