"
"Where doesn't he show sense, that M'sieu' Jean Jacques?" the younger
woman asked.
"Where? Why, with his girl--with Ma'm'selle." "Everybody I ever heard
speaks well of Ma'm'selle Zoe," returned the other warmly, for she had a
very generous mind and a truthful, sentimental heart. Mere Langlois
sniffed, and put her hands on her hips, for she had a daughter of her
own; also she was a relation of Jean Jacques, and therefore resented in
one way the difference in their social position, while yet she plumed
herself on being kin.
"Then you'll learn something now you never knew before," she said.
"She's been carrying on--there's no other word for it--with an actor
fellow--"
"Yes, yes, I did hear about him--a Protestant and an Englishman."
"Well, then, why do you pretend you don't know--only to hear me talk, is
it? Take my word, I'd teach cousin Zoe a lesson with all her education
and her two years at the convent. Wasn't it enough that her mother
should spoil everything for Jean Jacques, and make the Manor Cartier a
place to point the finger at, without her bringing disgrace on the parish
too! What happened last night--didn't I hear this morning before I had
my breakfast! Didn't I--"
She then proceeded to describe the scene in which Jean Jacques had thrown
the wrecked guitar of his vanished spouse into the fire.
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