"Something far more difficult," said Rousille. "To make a journey—a long one."
"I, a journey?"
"You, or Aunt Véronique. As far as the Bocage. Father cannot leave home; you are to go in his stead to see Jean Nesmy's mother, and persuade her to let her son come away. Will you do it?"
Véronique sat upright. "You go to the Bocage, Adelaide, you are more active than I am."
"Is that any reason? So great a pleasure; to do Rousille so great a service, why should you not have the privilege?"
"Sister, you are the elder; you take the place of the mother."
"You are right," said Adelaide simply.
She was silent for a short time; in the agitation of the news and her decision, the pretty pink cheeks had paled. Then she said:
"You see, it is forty years since I have been beyond the town of Chalons. I never thought to make any journey again. Where is Jean Nesmy's country?"
With a pretty smile on her face at the recollections it evoked, Rousille touched Aunt Michelonne's black dress three times with the tip of her finger.