'It appears,' said the old man, emphasising his words, 'that wherever Monsieur Larcher appears, they offer him blood to drink instead of tea or other things.'
'Blood!' exclaimed Fresneau, taken aback by this astounding statement. 'What for?'
'To sustain him, of course,' said Madame Offarel quickly; 'didn't you notice his face? What a life he must lead!'
'It also appears,' continued Offarel, anxious to gratify that low taste for senseless gossip peculiar to a bourgeois as soon as he gets hold of one of the innumerable calumnies to which well-known men are exposed—'it appears that he lives surrounded by a court of women who adore him, and that he has discovered an infallible method of making whatever he writes a success. He has a dozen copies of his proofs struck off at once, and takes one to each of the ladies he knows. They spread them out on their knees, and "Mon petit Larcher here, and mon petit Larcher there—you must alter this and you must cut out that." So he alters this and he cuts out that, and the ladies imagine that they have written his work for him.'
'I am not at all surprised,' said Madame Offarel; 'he looks like a bold deceiver.'
'I must confess,' replied Fresneau, 'that I don't like his writings much; but as for being a deceiver—that's another matter. My dear Madame Offarel, I assure you he's a perfect child. How it amuses me when the newspapers say that he knows women's hearts! I've always found him in love with the worst creatures on earth, whom he conscientiously believed to be angels, and who deceive him and fool him as much as they please. René told us the other day that he spends his time in dallying with little Colette Rigaud, who plays in the "Sigisbée"—a false hussy who'll worm his last shilling out of him.'
'Hush!' exclaimed Emilie, entering just in time to hear the end of this little speech, and placing her hand on her husband's lips. 'Monsieur Claude is a friend of ours, and I won't have him discussed. My brother desires to be excused for not saying "good night" to you all,' she added; 'they hadn't noticed that it was so late, and left in a hurry. And when am I to have that drawing of the last scene in the "Sigisbée?"' she asked, turning to the sous-chef de bureau.
'It's a bad time of year for water-colours,' replied the latter; 'it gets dark so soon, and we are overwhelmed with work—but you shall have it. Why, what's the matter, Rosalie? You are quite white.'
The poor girl was indeed suffering tortures on finding that René had left her without so much as a look or a word. A great lump rose in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears. She had strength enough, however, to repress her sobs and to reply that she was overcome by the heat of the stove. Her mother darted a look at Emilie containing such a direct reproach that Madame Fresneau turned away her eyes involuntarily. She, too, was deeply grieved; for, although she had always been opposed to this marriage, which was quite out of keeping with the ambitious plans she vaguely cherished for her brother, she loved Rosalie. When the mother and her two daughters had put on their bonnets and were at last ready to go, Emilie's feelings led her to embrace Rosalie more affectionately than was her wont. She was quite ready to pity the girl's sufferings, but that pity was not entirely devoid of a sad kind of satisfaction at seeing René's manifest indifference, and as the door closed behind her visitors she turned to Françoise with unalloyed joy in her honest brown eyes.
'You will take care not to make any noise in the morning, won't you?'