The speech was superfluous, however, for a single glance sufficed the sagacious and clear-sighted doctor to read the minds of his heirs by the expression of their faces. Zelie’s irruption into the church, her glance, which the doctor intercepted, this meeting of all the expectant ones in the public square, and the expression in their eyes as they turned them on Ursula, all proved to him their hatred, now freshly awakened, and their sordid fears.
“It is a feather in your cap, Mademoiselle,” said Madame Cremiere, putting in her word with a humble bow,—“a miracle which will not cost you much.”
“It is God’s doing, madame,” replied Ursula.
“God!” exclaimed Minoret-Levrault; “my father-in-law used to say he served to blanket many horses.”
“Your father-in-law had the mind of a jockey,” said the doctor severely.
“Come,” said Minoret to his wife and son, “why don’t you bow to my uncle?”
“I shouldn’t be mistress of myself before that little hypocrite,” cried Zelie, carrying off her son.
“I advise you, uncle, not to go to mass without a velvet cap,” said Madame Massin; “the church is very damp.”
“Pooh, niece,” said the doctor, looking round on the assembly, “the sooner I’m put to bed the sooner you’ll flourish.”
He walked on quickly, drawing Ursula with him, and seemed in such a hurry that the others dropped behind.