“Why so?” asked Modeste of the pretty young girl who had lately left the Sacre-Coeur.
“The great poet,” said the pious duchess—making a sign to her daughter to be silent—“left Madame de Chaulieu without a letter for more than two weeks after he went to Havre, having told her that he went there for his health—”
Modeste made a hasty movement, which caught the attention of Laure, Helene, and Mademoiselle d’Herouville.
“—and during that time,” continued the devout duchess, “she was endeavoring to have him appointed commander of the Legion of honor, and minister at Baden.”
“Oh, that was shameful in Canalis; he owes everything to her,” exclaimed Mademoiselle d’Herouville.
“Why did not Madame de Chaulieu come to Havre?” asked Modeste of Helene, innocently.
“My dear,” said the Duchesse de Verneuil, “she would let herself be cut in little pieces without saying a word. Look at her,—she is regal; her head would smile, like Mary Stuart’s, after it was cut off; in fact, she has some of that blood in her veins.”
“Did she not write to him?” asked Modeste.
“Diane tells me,” answered the duchess, prompted by a nudge from Mademoiselle d’Herouville, “that in answer to Canalis’s first letter she made a cutting reply a few days ago.”
This explanation made Modeste blush with shame for the man before her; she longed, not to crush him under her feet, but to revenge herself by one of those malicious acts that are sharper than a dagger’s thrust. She looked haughtily at the Duchesse de Chaulieu—