It was the third time Dr. Leblanc had repeated these words in the presence of his sister, Mademoiselle Josephine, who remained so mute that she might have been thought deaf, had not the irregular click of her knitting-needles, and two or three indistinct exclamations as she paused in her work, testified to a preoccupation quite equal to that of her brother. The latter at first manifested his by swiftly striding up and down the apartment in which they were, but now he resumed his usual place in the chimney-corner opposite his sister, opened and shut his snuff-box noisily, taking a useless profusion of pinches, which he forgot to convey to their destination, and tapping the floor with his foot in a manner that expressed great agitation or extreme perplexity.
Mademoiselle Josephine continued to knit without replying, and seemed no less absorbed than her brother. At length she said:
“At least, if she were not, as you say, so young and so beautiful!”
“And so poor and alone in the world, you should add. A sensible remark, indeed! It is evident if she were old, ugly, rich, and surrounded by friends, her situation would be
very different. I am indebted to you, Josephine, for the discovery.”
“Do not be impatient, brother. I am only repeating what you have just said. To continue the subject: if she only had a different air—”
“Well, go on!”
“And another name—”
“Another name! Why so? What has her name to do with the matter?”
“A name which was not ridiculous.”