“Why should you laugh, Monsieur Loris? What else were we to think of a bride who chooses a convent in preference to society?”
“It was decided she must be very ugly or very devout to make that choice.”
“A natural conclusion from your point of view,” agreed Dumaresque. “Will you be shocked when I tell you she is no less a radical than Alain himself?––that her favorite prophet is Voltaire, and that her books of devotion are not known in the church?”
“Horror!––an infidel!––and only a girl of twenty!” gasped the demure Sidonie.
“Chut!––she may be a veteran of double that. Alain always had a fancy for the grenadiers––the originals. But of course,” he added moodily, “we must go.”
“Take cheer,” laughed Dumaresque, “for I shall be there; and I promise you safe conduct through the gates when the grenadier feminine grows too oppressive.”
“Do you observe,” queried Madame, slyly, “that while Monsieur Loris does speak of her religion, he avoids enlightening us as to her personality?”
“What then do you expect?” returned Dumaresque. “She is the widow of my friend; the child, now, of my dear old god-mother. Should I find faults in her you would say I am jealous. Should I proclaim her virtues you would decide I am prejudiced by friendship, and so”––with a smile that was conciliating and a gesture comprehensive he dismissed the subject.
“Clever Dumaresque!” laughed Lavergne––“well, we shall see! Is it true that your picture of the Kora is to be seen at the dowager’s tomorrow?”