"It's true," said the child, "and I am glad you've come out! They won't put you in again, will they, monsieur?" he added apprehensively.
"No," replied Landri; and he, too, caressed the golden curls, while the mother said:—
"I kept you here only because you wanted to see Monsieur de Claviers. You have seen him, so go to your lessons.—He is fond of you," she continued, when the door had closed behind the little fellow, "and that is so sweet to me!" And, taking the young man's hand in her own, she added: "Yes, I prayed so earnestly for you,—but before your arrest,—that you would do what you did do, and I am so proud, so proud! When I read in the newspapers what happened at Hugueville, I felt so proud of you!"
"And I," he said, "it is so sweet to be with you once more!"
And it was true that the affectionate welcome of that passionately loved woman, after the heart-rending scenes of the morning, which had themselves followed upon a succession of racking and corroding emotions, was like the divine coolness of the oasis between two wearisome journeys over the scorching sand of the desert—a feast of the heart almost too intoxicating, so that it seemed as if the contrast could not be true, that that rapture was a lie and on the point of vanishing.
"Yes," he continued, "so sweet. For, you see, I have no one but you in all the world."
"Have you spoken to Monsieur de Claviers of your plans?" she asked. "You have never written me about it."
She interpreted Landri's words only in part in their real meaning, not wishing to seem to have divined the other part. Keen as was her intuition, she had not discerned the whole of the drama in which her dearly loved friend was involved. She had guessed that he was Jaubourg's son and that he knew it. She had no idea that the marquis also knew it.
"I have spoken to him."
"And he has refused his consent?"