"Yes. My mother has been engaged a long time. She would have been
married a year ago but for me."
"Ah, then you don't like it--you don't want her to marry again?"
"I should not care--that is, I should be glad for Jeanne and Louise.
Monsieur Berthier is very rich, and he has been kind to the girls. He
has offered to give them a home."
Jules came near laughing. It seemed to him ridiculous that the old
powdered woman he had seen in the dressing-room of the Circus should
marry again.
"Then how have you prevented the marriage?" he asked.
"Because I must work," she replied simply, "and mamma cannot leave me.
If mamma married Monsieur Berthier, she would have to stay in Boulogne."
"Ah!" A light broke on Jules. The mother would not marry until her
eldest daughter was married. So, of course, she must be anxious to find
a husband for Mademoiselle Blanche. He felt as if Providence were paving
the way toward happiness for him. For a moment he did not speak again.
Then he said: "But you will marry some day, and then your mother won't
have to travel with you."
She flushed, and made a deprecating gesture. "I shall always stay in the
circus," she said. "It's my life. I can't think of any other."
Then he gradually drew her out. She surprised him by telling him of the
monotony of her life. With most of the other performers she had merely a
slight acquaintance; the coarseness of the women and the vulgarity of
the men shocked her. Her only companion in her travels was her mother.
Yes, it was lonely sometimes not to know other girls of her own age, and
it was very hard to be separated from Jeanne and Louise. She worried a
great deal about Jeanne, who had shown a fondness for the circus. She
thought if her mother married, Jeanne would give up all thought of
becoming a performer. Of course, it was different with herself; she had
been bred to the circus, but she couldn't bear the thought of Jeanne's
being there, too. Jeanne was very pretty and lively; Aunt Sophie was
obliged to be strict with her. Louise was so different, so quiet and
simple, and religious, almost a _devote_. As she spoke of her sisters,
Mademoiselle Blanche grew very animated. Jules blamed himself for the
momentary doubt he had felt about her. If Durand could only hear her
now! But Durand doubted every woman.
It was nearly five o'clock when Madame Perrault returned. When she saw
Jules, she showed no surprise, but smiled upon him broadly and extended
her hand. Mademoiselle Blanche lapsed into silence and, as her mother
talked, with a superabundance of gesture and with tireless vivacity, she
could feel Jules' eyes fixed upon her. She knew that Jules hardly heard
what was being said, and when he rose to take his departure, she made no
effort to detain him.
"I should like to come again," he said to the girl.
"Some afternoon, perhaps," Madame Perrault suggested amiably. "Blanche
always rests between three and four, but after that she could see you."
"But I am at my office till six."
"Ah, yes!" Madame Perrault exclaimed with a smile. "That wicked
journalist! You must tell him we were vexed with his article."
"Then may I come in the evening? Perhaps you'll let me take you to the
theatre some night?"