“I have always noticed how vulgar forced flattery is,” said old Minoret. “Why is that?”
“A true thought has its own delicacy,” said the abbe.
“Did you dine with Madame de Portenduere?” asked Ursula, with a look of anxious curiosity.
“Yes; the poor lady is terribly distressed. It is possible she may come to see you this evening, Monsieur Minoret.”
Ursula pressed her godfather’s hand under the table.
“Her son,” said Bongrand, “was rather too simple-minded to live in Paris without a mentor. When I heard that inquiries were being made here about the property of the old lady I feared he was discounting her death.”
“Is it possible you think him capable of it?” said Ursula, with such a terrible glance at Monsieur Bongrand that he said to himself rather sadly, “Alas! yes, she loves him.”
“Yes and no,” said the Nemours doctor, replying to Ursula’s question. “There is a great deal of good in Savinien, and that is why he is now in prison; a scamp wouldn’t have got there.”
“Don’t let us talk about it any more,” said old Minoret. “The poor mother must not be allowed to weep if there’s a way to dry her tears.”
The four friends rose and went out; Ursula accompanied them to the gate, saw her godfather and the abbe knock at the opposite door, and as soon as Tiennette admitted them she sat down on the outer wall with La Bougival beside her.