She was babbling on without stopping. Margaret gently interrupted her.
“Will you pray with me, Jeanne?” she asked.
“If you wish.”
The two girls knelt side by side. But scarcely had they begun their orisons before some one knocked at the door.
“It’s the postman,” said the maid, handing some letters to Margaret.
“Will you permit me?” the latter asked of her companion. “It was Hubert’s day.... Oh, a letter from him.... I half expected one.”
With trembling hands she unsealed the envelope, which was postmarked from the Soudan. From the other side of the gates of Death the young officer was taking his part in the family drama. There are few sensations so poignant as that of receiving tidings from those who are no more. Margaret, whose shy patience had hitherto been like calm, let a long moan escape her as she read. Jeanne, discreet and much moved herself, did not dare console her. By her own force of will the girl controlled herself. This was not the time to be weak or give way. Had not her father shown her the proper way to act?
“Hubert!” she murmured.
She seemed to hesitate a moment what to do.
“I must—I think I must go to the court-house, at once,” she said.