The viscountess was overwhelming in thanks, and complained that her sister Jacqueline had been in such a hurry to see her niece that she would not give her time to come properly in her own carriage with post-horses, though, to be sure, the post-road was not only longer, but more expensive; she herself was obliged to return almost immediately to Nantes, where she had left three other little kittens, who were anxiously awaiting her. Here she put her arm round Charlotte’s neck. Charlotte, in reply, raised her eyes to her mother with the air of a little victim, which gave an impression to onlookers that the viscountess bored her four daughters prodigiously by dragging them on the scene very much as Corporal Trim produces his cap in “Tristram Shandy.”
“You are a fortunate mother and—” began Camille, stopping short as she remembered that Beatrix must have parted from her son when she left her husband’s house.
“Oh, yes!” said the viscountess; “if I have the misfortune of spending my life in the country, and, above all, at Nantes, I have at least the consolation of being adored by my children. Have you children?” she said to Camille.
“I am Mademoiselle des Touches,” replied Camille. “Madame is the Marquise de Rochefide.”
“Then I must pity you for not knowing the greatest happiness that there is for us poor, simple women—is not that so, madame?” said the viscountess, turning to Beatrix. “But you, mademoiselle, have so many compensations.”
The tears came into Madame de Rochefide’s eyes, and she turned away toward the parapet to hide them. Calyste followed her.
“Madame,” said Camille, in a low voice to the viscountess, “are you not aware that the marquise is separated from her husband? She has not seen her son for two years, and does not know when she will see him.”
“You don’t say so!” said Madame de Kergarouet. “Poor lady! is she legally separated?”
“No, by mutual consent,” replied Camille.
“Ah, well! I understand that,” said the viscountess boldly.