he paper; they've got it in the other room--the most
disgusting sheet. Margot's reading it to her husband; he can't read
English, if you can call it English: such a style of the gutter! Papa
tried to translate it to Maxime, but he couldn't, he was too sick.
There's 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 career in Paris, as
they call it, and the way we've pushed and got on and our ridiculous
pretensions. And a passage about Blanche de Douves, Raoul's sister, who
had that disease--what do they call it?--that she used to steal things
in shops: do you see them reading THAT? And how did he know such a
thing? It's ages ago, it's dead and buried!"

"You told me, you told me yourself," said Francie quickly. She turned
red the instant she had spoken.

"Don't say it's YOU--don't, don't, my darling!" cried Mme. de Brecourt,
who had stared and glared at her. "That's what I want, that's what you
must do, that's what I see you this way for first alone. I've answered
for you, you know; you must repudiate the remotest connexion; you must
deny it up to the hilt. Margot suspects you--she has got that idea--she
has given it to the others. I've told them they ought to be ashamed,
that it's an outrage to all we know you and love you for. I've done
everything for the last hour to protect you. I'm your godmother, you
know, and you mustn't disappoint me. You're incapable, and you must say
so, face to face, to my father. Think of Gaston, cherie; HE'LL have seen
it over there, alone, far from us all. Think of HIS horror and of HIS
anguish and of HIS faith, of what HE would expect of you." Mme. de
Brecourt hurried on, and her companion's bewilderment deepened to see
how the tears had risen to her eyes and were pouring down her cheeks.
"You must say to my father, face to face, that you're incapable--that
you're stainless."

"Stainless?" Francie bleated it like a bewildered interrogative lamb.
B