'Yes, I'll run down and see--see _papa_; she shan't tell lies behind my
back, horrid woman!'
At the study-door I knocked, and forthwith entered. My father was sitting
near the window, his open book before him, Madame standing at the
other side of the table, her cunning eyes bathed in tears, and her
pocket-handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Her eyes glittered stealthily on
me for an instant: she was sobbing--_desolee_, in fact--that grim grenadier
lady, and her attitude was exquisitely dejected and timid. But she was,
notwithstanding, reading closely and craftily my father's face. He was not
looking at her, but rather upward toward the ceiling, reflectively leaning
on his hand, with an expression, not angry, but rather surly and annoyed.
'I ought to have heard of this before, Madame,' my father was saying as I
came in; 'not that it would have made any difference--not the least; mind
that. But it was the kind of thing that I ought to have heard, and the
omission was not strictly right.'
Madame, in a shrill and lamentable key, opened her voluble reply, but was
arrested by a nod from my father, who asked me if I wanted anything.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133