Page:The Reverberator (2nd edition, American issue, London and New York, Macmillan & Co., 1888).djvu/171

Rh out of the window, wiping her eyes; Mme. de Cliché grasped a newspaper, crumpled and partly folded. Francie got a quick impression, moving her eyes from one face to another, that old Mr. Probert was the worst; his mild, ravaged expression was terrible. He was the one who looked at her least; he went to the fireplace and leaned on the mantel, with his head in his hands. He seemed ten years older.

"Ah, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" said Maxime de Cliché, slowly, impressively, in a tone of the most respectful but most poignant reproach.

"Have you seen it—have they sent it to you?" his wife asked, thrusting the paper towards her. "It's quite at your service!" But as Francie neither spoke nor took it she tossed it upon the sofa, where, as it opened, falling, the girl read the name of the Reverberator. Mme. de Cliché carried her head very far back.

"She has nothing to do with it—it's just as I told you—she's overwhelmed," said Mme. de Brécourt, remaining at the window.

"You would do well to read it—it's worth the trouble," Alphonse de Brécourt remarked, going over to his wife. Francie saw him kiss her as he perceived her tears. She was angry at her own; she choked and swallowed them; they seemed somehow to put her in the wrong.

"Have you had no idea that any such