Page:The Reverberator (2nd edition, American issue, London and New York, Macmillan & Co., 1888).djvu/167

Rh how can your father? What devil has he paid to tattle to him?"

"You scare me awfully—you terrify me," said the girl. "I don't know what you are talking about. I haven't seen it, I don't understand it. Of course I have talked to Mr. Flack."

"Oh, Francie, don't say it—don't say it! Dear child, you haven't talked to him in that fashion: vulgar horrors, and such a language!" Mme. de Brécourt came nearer, took both her hands now, drew her closer, seemed to plead with her. "You shall see the paper; they have got it in the other room—the most disgusting sheet. Margot is reading it to her husband; he can't read English, if you can call it English: such a style! Papa tried to translate it to Maxime, but he couldn't, he was too sick. There is a quantity about Mme. de Marignac—imagine only! And a quantity about Jeanne and Raoul and their economies in the country. When they see it in Brittany—heaven preserve us!"

Francie had turned very white; she looked for a minute at the carpet. "And what does it say about me?"

"Some trash about your being the great American beauty, with the most odious details, and your having made a match among the 'rare old exclusives.' And the strangest stuff about your father—his having gone into a 'store' at the age of twelve. And something about your poor sister—heaven help us! And a sketch of our