"Perfectly, and he begged me to convey his grateful remembrances. Those of my mother also," the young man added warmly.
"Yes, he was a good man! I remember when, when he was ill, and M. Chausse—the pastor, you know"—the reminiscence appeared to agitate her—"was ill also——"
The girl leant over her quickly. "Monsieur Mercier has brought something for you, mother," she said.
"Ah?"
"His grateful remembrances and this letter," Claude murmured with a blush. He knew that the letter contained no more than he had already said; compliments, and the hope that Madame Royaume might be able to receive the son as she had received the father.
"Ah!" Madame Royaume repeated, taking the letter with fingers that shook a little.
"You shall read it when Monsieur Mercier is gone," her daughter said. With that she looked across at the young man. Her eyes commanded him to take his leave.
But he was resolute. "My father expresses the hope," he said, "that you will grant me the same privilege of living under your roof, Madame, which was so highly prized by him."
"Of course, of course," she answered eagerly, her eyes lighting up. "I am not myself, sir, able to overlook the house—but, Anne, you will see to—to this being done?"
"My dear mother, we have no room!" the girl replied; and stooping, hid her face while she whispered in her mother's ear. Then aloud, "We are so full, so—it goes so well," she continued gaily. "We never have any room. I am sure, sir,"—again she faced him across the bed—"it is a disappointment to my mother, but it cannot be helped."