This unexpected reply amazed him. He looked at Mme. Guérard from under his heavy eyelids, and she at once said:
“No, she does not care for the stage, but she does not want to marry, and consequently she will have no money, as her father left her a hundred thousand francs, which she can only have on her wedding-day. Her mother, therefore, wants her to have some profession, for Mme. Bernhardt only has an annuity, a fairly good one, but it is only an annuity, and so she will not be able to leave her daughters anything. On that account she wants Sarah to become independent. Sarah would like to enter a convent.”
“But that is not an independent career, my child,” said M. Auber, slowly. “How old is she?” he asked.
“Fourteen and a half,” replied Mme. Guérard.
“No,” I exclaimed, “I am nearly fifteen.”
The kind old man smiled.
“In twenty years from now,” he said, “you will insist less about the exact figures,” and, evidently thinking the visit had lasted long enough, he rose.
“It appears,” he said to Mme. Guérard, “that this little girl’s mother is very beautiful?”
“Oh, very beautiful!” she replied.
“You will please express my regret to her that I have not seen her, and my thanks for having so thoughtfully sent you.” He thereupon kissed Mme. Guérard’s hand, and she colored slightly.