hey could alight and walk a little; even of the
bench where they might sit down. "I see, I see," he repeated with
appreciation. "You make me feel quite as if I were in the grand old
monde."

XI

One day at noon, shortly before the time for which Gaston had announced
his return, a note was brought Francie from Mme. de Brecourt. It caused
her some agitation, though it contained a clause intended to guard
her against vain fears. "Please come to me the moment you've received
this--I've sent the carriage. I'll explain when you get here what I want
to see you about. Nothing has happened to Gaston. We are all here." The
coupe from the Place Beauvau was waiting at the door of the hotel, and
the girl had but a hurried conference with her father and sister--if
conference it could be called in which vagueness on the one side melted
into blankness on the other. "It's for something bad--something bad,"
Francie none the less said while she tied her bonnet, though she was
unable to think what it could be. Delia, who looked a good deal scared,
offered to accompany her; on which Mr. Dosson made the first remark of
a practical character in which he had indulged in relation to his
daughter's alliance.

"No you won't--no you won't, my dear. They may whistle for Francie, but
let them see that they can't whistle for all of us." It was the first
sign he had given of being jealous of the dignity of the Dossons. That
question had never troubled him.

"I know what it is," said Delia while she arranged her sister's
garments. "They want to talk about religion. They've got the priests;
there's some bishop or perhaps some cardinal. They want to baptise you."

"Then you'd better take a waterproof!" Francie's father called after her
as she flitted away.

She wondered, rolling toward the Place Beauvau, what they were all there
for; that announcement balanced against the reassurance conveyed in
the phrase about Gaston. She liked them individually, but in their
collective form they made her uneasy. In their family parties there was
always something of the tribunal. Mme. de Brecourt came out to meet her
in the vestibule, drawing her quickly into a small room--not the salon;
Francie knew it as her hostess's "own room," a lovely boudoir--in which,
considerably to the girl's relief, the rest of the family were not
assembled. Yet she guessed in a moment that they were near at hand--they
were waiting. Susan looked flushed and strange; she had a qu