“Father,” said Felix, moving to the side of the room where Madame Thuillier and Celeste were seated, “I could not leave before the end of the phenomenon; and then I couldn’t find a carriage, and I have run the whole way.”
“Your ears ought to have burned as you came,” said la Peyrade, “for you have been for the last half-hour in the minds of these ladies, and a great problem has been started about you.”
Felix did not answer. He saw Brigitte entering the salon from the dining-room where she had gone to tell the man-servant not to bring in more trays, and he hurried to greet her.
After listening to a few reproaches for the rarity of his visits and receiving forgiveness in a very cordial “Better late than never,” he turned towards his pole, and was much astonished to hear himself addressed by Madame de Godollo as follows:—
“Monsieur,” she said, “I hope you will pardon the indiscretion I have, in the heat of conversation, committed about you. I have told these ladies where I met you this morning.”
“Met me?” said Felix; “if I had the honor to meet you, madame, I did not see you.”
An almost imperceptible smile flickered on la Peyrade’s lips.
“You saw me well enough to ask me to keep silence as to where I had met you; but, at any rate, I did not go beyond a simple statement; I said you saw Pere Anselme sometimes, and had certain scientific relations with him; also that you defended your religious doubts to him as you do to Celeste.”
“Pere Anselme!” said Felix, stupidly.
“Yes, Pere Anselme,” said la Peyrade, “a great mathematician who does not despair of converting you. Mademoiselle Celeste wept for joy.”