Was it to happen again? No, she told herself; never
with Farron. He would command or die, lead her or leave her.
Mathilde knocked at her door, as she did every morning as soon as her
stepfather had gone down town. She had had an earlier account of Mr.
Lanley's interview. It had read:
"DEAREST GIRL:
"The great discussion did not go very well, apparently. The opinion
prevails at the moment that no engagement can be allowed to exist between
us. I feel as if they were all meeting to discuss whether or not the sun
is to rise to-morrow morning. You and I, my love, have special
information that it will."
After this it needed no courage to go down and hear her mother's account
of the interview. Adelaide was still in bed, but one long, pointed
fingertip, pressed continuously upon the dangling bell, a summons that
had long since lost its poignancy for the temperamental Lucie, indicated
that she was about to get up.
"My dear," she said in answer to Mathilde's question, "your grandfather's
principal interest seems to be to tell me nothing at all, and he has been
wonderfully successful. I can get nothing from him, so I'm going myself."
The girl's heart sank at hearing this. Her mother saw things clearly and
definitely, and had a talent for expressing her impressions in
unforgetable words. Mathilde could still remember with a pang certain
books, poems, pictures, and even people whose charms her mother had
destroyed in one poisonous phrase.
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