Louis seemed in suspense. "M. Lebeau," said Madame Delong, very seriously; "since it must be confessed, Louis has had a slight quarrel with his aunt, and it was for that reason that he declined going with her to the theatre. I do not blame him for it, it was the most respectful manner of letting his aunt know that she had wounded his feelings; but I leave him to judge," she added, looking at Louis, "whether it be becoming in him to go and brave her as it were, and as if he said to her, 'I did not choose to accept your favours, I can dispense with them.'"
"Such punctilios are only fit for a girl," cried M. Lebeau. "My dear friend, I tell you plainly, you will make a milksop of that son of yours."
"I am not aware," said Madame Delong, still looking at her son, "that Louis feels himself any the weaker, or the less worthy of esteem, when he submits to his duty, than when he fails in it in order to follow his pleasures."
Louis shook his head; he knew very well that his mother was right; but he found it impossible to make any answer. At this moment Charles rushed into the room: quite out of patience at not seeing his friend Louis arrive, he had run to look for him. "Come, make haste!" he cried; "you will make us lose the first scene, and perhaps even our places."
Louis, with eyes cast down, pressed his hand, and not daring to trust his voice, said, in a tone scarcely audible,—"I am not going to the theatre."
"Not going! and why not?" asked Charles, much astonished.
"On account of my aunt."
Charles, in consternation, looked alternately at his father and at Madame Delong; the latter hastened to observe: "It is a voluntary sacrifice which my son makes to his sense of propriety, and one which I hope we shall be able to make up to him another time."
"Another time!" cried M. Lebeau, striking the floor with his cane; "another time! why, they are going away to-morrow; I tell you they set off to-morrow."
Louis started. Madame Delong, looking at him, sorrowfully, but firmly, said, "Is that any reason, my son?" Louis hurried out of the room; he was choking. Charles left the house in grief, and M. Lebeau, as he took his departure, repeated, "I always said so; the most sensible woman in the world knows nothing about bringing up boys."