'And how is that angel your mother?' asked Madame Louison. 'Some one said she had suffered greatly from headache, and I have been overwhelmed with distress. I am sure I quite soaked my pillow with tears. Ah! what it is to have a sympathising heart, to feel more for others than for one's self. I have not slept for three nights, thinking of that angel Josephine, and her racked head. Well! what now, Coco?' she twirled round again, as a vision of a white cap and shoulders appeared behind her. 'Ah! you need not come slinking up without shoes, thinking I should not hear you. Down, Coco, down to your duties.' And the white cap and jacket dived once more into the depths. 'And the corporal,' continued the lady; 'that magnificent man, that warrior, that hero, the father of this young man, need I say more?'
'Aunt, his head and heart are in Switzerland still; need I say more?'
'Ah, in Switzerland, that magnificent, that superb country, that land of resources, of wealth, of commerce. Mon Dieu! it is a country!' She said this bowing to Nicholas.
'Aunt,' said Madeleine, 'I must introduce to you a friend, Mademoiselle André.'
'Ah! André,' repeated Madame Louison; 'a name, historical and illustrious; I have known Andrés,—three, four, five, many an André, but all were excellent people. And whence does Mademoiselle André come?'
'From Normandy,' answered Madeleine.
'Don't tell me she comes from Normandy,' said madame; 'of all the provinces of France, the finest, the most superb, the most unfailing in resources, the most wealthy, the most commercial, the most affluent in men of money and talent, and in women,' she curtsied to Gabrielle, 'in women of beauty.' Then sharply, 'Well, Coco!'
'I thought you called me, mamma!'
'No, Coco, you did not think so; down into your hole again, instantly, Coco!' Then turning again to her visitors she proceeded, 'and what may have brought Mademoiselle André to Paris? to Paris of all cities after the charming Norman towns Rouen, and Caen, and Évreux! Ah! I blush for the capital when I think of what the Norman cities must be, abodes of industry and of virtue. Ah! I blush for the capital when I contrast the morals of its citizens with those of Normandy, where all are good, all are virtuous, all,' she curtsied to Gabrielle, 'all are angels.' Then, glancing at Nicholas, she continued, 'and the Swiss, I should say that none of our countrymen were their equals except the Normans, that race of hardy, daring, enterprising incomparables! What will it please you to order, Monsieur Nicholas?'