"I'm sure they will; otherwise you know, dear, we wouldn't leave you with them. Of course it will only be for a day or two, for they are quite plain people, with quite a little house."
"I don't mind, not if they're kind to us," said Gladys. "But, oh! I do wish you weren't going away."
"So do I," said Mrs. Marton, who felt really very nearly breaking down herself. The sort of quiet resignation about Gladys was very touching, much more so than if she had burst out into sobs and tears. It was perhaps as well that just at that moment Mr. Marton came back, and saying something in a low voice to his wife, drew her out of the room, where in the passage stood Léonie.
"Back already," exclaimed Mrs. Marton in surprise.
"Oh yes," Léonie replied, "it was not far, and the coachman drove fast. But I thought it better not to speak before the children. It is a very little place, Madame. I wonder if it will do." She seemed anxious and a little afraid of what she had proposed.
"But can they take them? That is the principal question," said Mr. Marton.
"Oh yes," said Léonie. "My aunt is goodness itself. She understands it all quite well, and would do her best; and it would certainly be better than to leave them with strangers, and would cost much less; only—the poor children!—all is so small and so cramped. Just two or three little rooms behind the shop; and they have been used to an English nursery, and all so nice."
"I don't think they have been spoilt in some ways," said Mrs. Marton. "Poor little Gladys seems to mind nothing if she is sure of kindness. Besides, what else can we do? And it is very kind of your aunt to consent, Léonie."
"Yes, Madame. It is not for gain that she does it. Indeed it will not be gain, for she must find a room for her son, and arrange his room for the dear children. They have little beds among the furniture, so that will be easy; and all is very clean—my aunt is a good manager—but only——"
Léonie looked very anxious.