Mlle. Frahender was
carrying a cardboard box, containing two bonnets and a light cloth, in
which to wrap her hat in in the train. All the rest of her belongings
were contained in a little attache case of grey duck, so flat that it
seemed impossible that it could contain anything.
When Madame Darbois saw them drive away, she was filled with distress,
and as there was maternal anxiety in the mother's breast, so was there
foreboding of evil in the father's mind.
"I hope nothing bad will happen," thought the good woman, "but railway
accidents are so common nowadays."
"Who will she be seeing while she is away? What is destiny providing
for her? My child is not armed against adventure," the philosopher was
thinking.
The two looked at each other, divining the miserable anxiety to which
the other was prey.
The rough, strident notes of Adhemar Meydieux's voice suddenly broke
upon this atmosphere of gentle melancholy--"Well! what is this I hear?
Esperance has gone; it is madness! I read in my paper this morning
that she is going to play '_Dona Sol_' at Brussels! So I have
come to escort her."
Francois wrung his hand without saying a word.
"What is the matter with you," went on Adhemar, "you seem to have
changed into pillars of salt. I know very well that the theatre is
Sodom and Gomorrah in one, but wait a little before you give way
entirely! Who is going with my goddaughter?"
"Mlle. Frahender, Marguerite, Maurice Renaud and Jean Perliez," the
poor mother hastened to say.
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