“It is high time,” she thought, “to get rid of our hero.”
Behind her Marcel, too, was studying the girl. He was looking at her with the eagerness of love which dares not hope too much. But he quickly lowered his eyes. And when he raised them again they were full of the peace of love wherein doubt and fear do not linger. Madame Orlandi and Mademoiselle De Songeon, led by M. Dulaurens, joined the group. Through the plane-tree avenue they accompanied Paule and Marcel, who were about to take their leave.
In front of the open gate on the other side of the Chaloux road, before a humble cottage, a swarm of children were playing in the sun. With tangled hair, shining healthy faces, and bare feet, they shouted now with joy and now with anger, when suddenly their mother came out on the doorstep. She was a peasant woman, of faded appearance, whose figure indicated approaching motherhood.
“They are very poor,” explained Madame Dulaurens, looking at them, “and they are always expecting more children. They have seven already, and just look!”
“Seven children! How awful!” said Mademoiselle de Songeon, turning away in disgust.
“It is tempting Providence,” added Madame Dulaurens. And Mademoiselle Orlandi twittered:
“How pretty they would look painted! But in actual life they are dirty and a nuisance.”
“Those who want them can’t have them,” muttered the peasant woman, who had overheard this. And she picked up the youngest child and pressed it to her bosom.
Isabelle laughed a hard laugh and said to her fiancé, looking him straight in the face:
“Well, you know, I don’t want any children!”