"A still tongue 's best, my Ange, but between you and me"—she shrugged her shoulders, and then bit her lip, as the movement jarred her—"there is certainly something strange about 'our new niece,' as you call her."
"Well, she is our nephew's wife," said Ange.
"Our nephew's wife, but no wife for our nephew, if I'm not much mistaken," returned Marthe sharply.
"I thought she looked sweet, and good."
"Good, good—yes, we 're all good at that age! Bless my soul, Ange, if goodness made a happy marriage, the devil would soon have more holidays than working days."
"Ma chérie, if any one heard you!"
"Well, they don't, and I should n't mind if they did. What I do mind is that Jacques should have made a marriage which will probably break his heart."
"But why, why?"
"Oh, my Angel, if you saw things under your nose as clearly as you do those that are a hundred years away, you would n't have to ask why."
"I saw nothing wrong," said Ange in a voice of distress.