"
"It is far off--all that," said Henriette. "I don't like to talk
of it. I prefer her as a baby. I want her to grow up--but then
I change my mind and think I don't. I know your mother doesn't.
Do you know, I don't believe she ever thinks about anything but
her little Gervaise."
"I believe you," said the father. "The child can certainly boast
of having a grandmother who loves her."
"Also, I adore your mother," declared Henriette. "She makes me
forget my misfortune in not having my own mother. She is so
good!"
"We are all like that in our family," put in George.
"Really," laughed the wife. "Well, anyhow--the last time that we
went down in the country with her--you had gone out, I don't know
where you had gone--"
"To see the sixteenth-century chest," suggested the other.
"Oh, yes," laughed Henriette; "your famous chest!" (You must
excuse this little family chatter of theirs--they were so much in
love with each other!)
"Don't let's talk about that," objected George. "You were
saying--?"
"You were not there. The nurse was out at mass, I think--"
"Or at the wine merchant's! Go on, go on."
"Well, I was in the little room, and mother dear thought she was
all alone with Gervaise. I was listening; she was talking to the
baby--all sorts of nonsense, pretty little words--stupid, if you
like, but tender. I wanted to laugh, and at the same time I
wanted to weep."
"Perhaps she called her 'my dear little Savior'?"
"Exactly! Did you hear her?"
"No--but that is what she used to call me when I was little.
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