"
"Who is making Fanny weep?" cried the old man, waking with a start at
the sound of his wife's voice. He looked round upon his sister, his
son, and the baroness. "What is the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing, my friend," replied his wife.
"Mamma," said Calyste, whispering in his mother's ear, "it is
impossible for me to explain myself just now; but to-night you and I
will talk of this. When you know all, you will bless Mademoiselle des
Touches."
"Mothers do not like to curse," replied the baroness. "I could not
curse a woman who truly loved my Calyste."
The young man bade adieu to his father and went out. The baron and his
wife rose to see him pass through the court-yard, open the gate, and
disappear. The baroness did not again take up the newspaper; she was
too agitated. In this tranquil, untroubled life such a discussion was
the equivalent of a quarrel in other homes. Though somewhat calmed,
her motherly uneasiness was not dispersed. Whither would such a
friendship, which might claim the life of Calyste and destroy it, lead
her boy? Bless Mademoiselle des Touches? how could that be? These
questions were as momentous to her simple soul as the fury of
revolutions to a statesman.
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