“Well done!” cried Monsieur de Camps, laughing; “you have improved since morning.”
“This morning I was a fool,” said the peer of France, hunting in the blotting-book for the letter, which he might have had the grace to believe in without seeing.
“Hush!” said Madame de Camps, in a low voice to her husband, to prevent further remarks. “I’ll explain this queer performance to you by and by.”
Rejuvenated by ten years at least, the peer of France offered his arm to Madame de Camps, while the amateur iron-master offered his to the countess.
“But Nais!” said Monsieur de l’Estorade, noticing the melancholy face of his daughter, who was looking over the stairs at the party. “Isn’t she going too?”
“No,” said the countess; “I am displeased with her.”
“Ah, bah!” said the father, “I proclaim an amnesty. Get your hat,” he added, addressing his daughter.
Nais looked at her mother to obtain a ratification, which her knowledge of the hierarchy of power in that establishment made her judge to be necessary.
“You can come,” said her mother, “if your father wishes it.”
While they waited in the antechamber for the child, Monsieur de l’Estorade noticed that Lucas was standing up beside a half-finished letter.