Part 3 (1/2)
She picked up her basket and went away, looking very merry and fresh.
Her muslin dress fluttered round her, as pink and pretty as she herself was. As soon as she had disappeared, it seemed as though a veil of melancholy had suddenly spread itself over the large room. No one spoke, and there was not a sound to be heard except the knocking together of the billiard-b.a.l.l.s, and the rattling of the numbers, which the abbe kept shaking all the time, bringing into this game, as into everything else, the methodical precision which was habitual to him.
”Grandmamma,” said Henry de Bracieux at length, ”you ought not to allow Bijou to give us the slip like this, especially at Bracieux. In Paris it is not so bad, but here, when she leaves us we are done for; she is the ray of suns.h.i.+ne that lights up the whole house.”
The marchioness shrugged her shoulders.
”You talk nonsense; you forget that very soon Bijou will _give us the slip_, as you so elegantly put it, in a more decisive way.”
”What do you mean? She is not going to be married?”
”Well, I hope so.”
”You have someone in view?” asked M. de Rueille, not very well pleased.
”No, not at all; but, you see, the said someone may present himself one day or another--not here, of course, there is no one round here who would be suitable for Bijou; but it is very probable that this winter in Paris--”
Henry de Bracieux, a fine-looking young man of twenty-five years of age, with a strong resemblance to his sister Bertrade, was listening to the words of the marchioness. His eyebrows were knitted, and there was a serious expression on his face. He missed a very easy cannon, and his brother-in-law was astonished.
”Oh, hang it!” he exclaimed; ”it is too warm to play billiards. I am going out to have a nap in the hammock.”
His sister watched him as he left the room, and then turning towards the marchioness, she whispered:
”He, too!”
The old lady replied, with a touch of ill-humour:
”Bijou cannot marry all the family, anyhow. Ah! here she is, we must not talk about it.”
Just at that moment the graceful figure of the young girl appeared in the doorway leading to the stone steps.
”How many people will there be to dinner on Thursday, grandmamma?” she asked, without entering the room.
”Why, I have not counted. There are the La Balues--”
”That makes four.”
”The Juzencourts--”
”Six.”
”Young Bernes--”
”Seven.”
”Madame de Nezel--”
”Eight.”
”That's all.”