A shadow darkened his features: he could never accustom himself to the absence of his second daughter, now a Little Sister of the Poor across the seas in Hanoi. Mrs. Roquevillard leant more heavily on her husband’s arm.
“No, Francis, she’s not so far from us. Her thoughts are with us. I know and feel it. Hubert, who saw her on his way back from China, found her happy. And then, one day, we shall all be united.”
He was afraid of his feelings, and began counting the approaching group again.
“That’s not Charles coming with Maurice,” he said. “It’s a woman. They have left the short cut. They’re spreading out.”
“It’s Mrs. Frasne, perhaps. Do you see her husband?”
“Yes, it’s she; but I don’t see the notary.”
“He’ll come up later with Charles. Their studies keep them till six o’clock.”
“The Frasnes dine here this evening, don’t they?” he asked.
She seemed to make excuses for it as for a fault.
“Yes. They often ask Maurice there, and he begged me to invite them.”