“Because you are too young and too pretty, my dear—since you ask a plain question,” replied the baroness, impulsively. Then she turned towards mademoiselle. “You know,” she said, “that my precious stupid is organizing a field hospital.”
“I thought he would find something to do,” answered mademoiselle, curtly.
“Yes,” said the baroness, slowly, “yes—because when he was a boy he had for governess a certain little woman whose teaching was deeds, not words. And he is paying for it himself. And we shall all be ruined.”
She spread out her rich dress, lay back in her luxurious carriage, and smiled on Mademoiselle Brun with something that was not mirth at the back of her brown eyes.
“I shall go to him,” said mademoiselle. And the baroness made no reply for some moments.
“Do you know what he said?” she asked. “He said we shall want women—old ones. I know one old woman who will come!”
Mademoiselle was buttoning her cotton gloves and did not seem to hear.
“It was, of course, Lory,” went on the baroness, “who encouraged him and told him how to go about it. And then he went back to the front to fight. Mon Dieu! he can fight—that Lory!”
“Where is he?” asked mademoiselle. And the baroness spread out her gloved hands.
“At the front—I cannot tell you more.”