“No, certainly not,” said the old lady earnestly. “How would that look, I beg to know?—Excuse me, Clement, you know how I esteem and love you; but then, my good friend, how old are you, pray? And as to Gabrielle, besides her age (which is equally objectionable), she has, as I have told her a thousand times, a dangerous face—a face which will not allow her to do a great many things permissible to others not older than she—I tell you the truth, and defy any one to deny it.”
No one attempted it, for the thought just expressed so characteristically was the opinion of all.
“Therefore,” continued mademoiselle, “Gabrielle must be accompanied by some respectable person. Once more pardon, Clement; this does not imply you can be dispensed with (you are a protector not to be easily replaced); but, my dear friend, les convenances require she should have at the same time an elderly and reliable companion. Now, I propose that this reliable and elderly person be—myself!—”
There was a general exclamation at these unexpected words. Every one spoke at once, and for some moments no one could be heard. The good Mademoiselle Josephine, however, comprehended at once that her proposition was generally approved. [pg 308] But before any one uttered a word, before Clement even had time to go and grasp her hand, Fleurange sprang forward, and, throwing her arms around her old friend's neck, exclaimed: “Oh! how shall I thank you?—May God reward you for all it is his will I should owe you!”
This signified that she accepted her generous offer without any formality. A few hours previous, her aunt, we know, had attached a condition to her consent, and this was preoccupying Fleurange when her excellent old friend suddenly decided the matter in so unexpected a way.
From this moment, everything was plain to Mademoiselle Josephine. The opportunity she so greatly desired had not been long delayed. In this extraordinary phase of Gabrielle's life she found an opportunity of manifesting the greatest devotedness, and of retarding still longer the hour of separation from her beloved protégée. She felt comforted, and was at once restored to her usual placid good humor. There remained, however, more than one misconception about the whole arrangement which she could not seem to clear up.
“Why,” said she an hour after, when, following her servant, who had come for her with a lantern, she took Clement's arm to go home—“why cannot we also go to Siberia with her, if not disagreeable to this M. le Comte, whose name I can never pronounce?”
Clement could not repress a smile at this, but there was too much bitterness in it for him to wish to reply. She did not perceive it. She was only thinking aloud without regard to him, and, following the course of her reflections, she soon made another, which, far from exciting the least temptation to smile, made Clement shudder from head to foot.
“If,” she said, after a few moments' silence—“if this Monsieur George is only worthy of the sacrifice she is going to make for him!—If after leaving us all—us who love her so much—she does not hereafter discover he does not love her as much as we!”