Ange threw off her wet cloak and bent to kiss her sister. "Oh, my dearest, has it been so long?" she said. "Why, I thought we were being so quick, and that you would commend us. We did not wait at all, only gave the food to Louise and came straight back. Has the pain been bad then, my poor darling? Have you wanted anything?"
Marthe pushed her away with an angry jerk.
"What I want is a way out of this abominable situation," she exclaimed. "If you had any common-sense, Ange—the slightest instinct of self-preservation—but no, you will sacrifice all our lives to that wicked old woman, and then flatter yourself that you have done something to be proud of. Come here to die, has she? Heavens, she 'll outlive us all, and then go happy in the thought that she has contrived to do a little more mischief before the end!"
Ange winced, but only said gently:
"Dearest, don't."
"There, Ange, I 've no patience! I tell you we are all on the brink of ruin. Madelon has been here."
"Madelon? Ah, the dear child. It is so long since I have really seen her. I am sorry to have missed her. Was she well?"
Mlle Marthe caught her sister's hand and pressed it until she cried out, "Marthe, you are hurting me!"
"Ange! Sometimes I could swear at you! For Heaven's sake think of yourself for a few moments, or if that is asking too much, think of Aline, think of me. Madelon came here because her father sent her!"
"Her father sent her! Marthe, dearest, don't—that hurts."