Every one present pitied her for the contretemps over which she had triumphed so successfully.  Then she resumed, serenely: 

“Don’t you think that Isabelle played the part almost as well as Jacqueline?  Up to the last moment I was afraid that something would go wrong.  When one gets into a streak of ill-luck—­but all went off to perfection, thank heaven!”

Meantime Madame Odinska was whispering to one of those who sat near her her belief that Jacqueline would never get over her father’s loss.  “It would not astonish me,” she said, “to hear that the child, who has a noble nature, would remain in the convent and take the veil.”

Any kind of heroic deed seemed natural to this foolish enthusiast, who, as a matter of fact, in her own life, had never shown any tendency to heroic virtues; her mission in life had seemed to be to spoil her daughters in every possible way, and to fling away more money than belonged to her.

“Really?  Was she so very fond of her father!” asked Madame Ray, incredulously.  “When he was alive, they did not seem to make much of him in his own house.  Maybe this retreat is a good way of getting over a little wound to her ’amour-propre’.”

“The proper thing, I think,” said Madame d’Etaples, “would be for the mother and daughter to keep together, to bear the troubles before them hand in hand.  Jacqueline does not seem to think much of the last wishes of the father she pretends to be so fond of.  The Baroness showed me, with many tears, a letter he left joined to his will, which was written some years ago, and which now, of course, is of no value.  He told mother and daughter to take care of each other and hoped they would always remain friends, loving each other for love of him.  Jacqueline’s conduct amazes me; it looks like ingratitude.”

“Oh! she is a hard-hearted little thing!  I always thought so!” said Madame de Villegry, carelessly.

Here the rising of the curtain stopped short these discussions, which displayed so much good-nature and perspicacity.  But some laid the blame on the influence of that little bigot of a Talbrun, who had secretly blown up the fire of religious enthusiasm in Jacqueline, when Madame d’Avrigny’s energetic “Hush!” put an end to the discussion.  It was time to come back to more immediate interests, to the play which went on in spite of wind and tide.

     ETEXT editor’s bookmarks: 

     A mother’s geese are always swans
     Bathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of ugliness
     Fred’s verses were not good, but they were full of dejection
     Hang out the bush, but keep no tavern
     A familiarity which, had he known it, was not flattering
     His sleeplessness was not the insomnia of genius
     Importance in this world are as easily swept away as the sand
     Natural longing, that we all have, to know the worst
     Notion of her husband’s