Madame Vedel’s features assumed an air of tragic boredom: “How many times must I repeat that I have nothing to do with settling accounts. Tell him to go to Miss Rachel. Go along.... Not a moment’s peace! What can Rachel be thinking of?” “Aren’t we going to wait tea for her?” “She never takes tea.... Oh! the beginning of term is a troublesome time for us. The tutors who apply ask exorbitant fees, or when their fees are possible, they themselves aren’t. Papa was not at all pleased with the last; he was a great deal too weak with him; and now he comes threatening. You heard what the maid said. All these people think of nothing but money.... As if there were nothing more important than that in the world.... In the mean time we don’t know how to replace him. Prosper always thinks one has nothing to do but to pray to God for everything to go right....” The maid came back with the sugar. “Have you told Mr. Armand?” “Yes, Ma’am; he’s coming directly.” “And Sarah?” I asked. “She won’t be back for another two days. She’s staying with friends in England; with the parents of the girl you saw here before the holidays. They have been very kind, and I’m glad that Sarah was able to.... And Laura. I thought she was looking much better. The stay in Switzerland coming after the South has done her a great deal of good, and it was very kind of you to persuade her to it. It’s only poor Armand who hasn’t left Paris all the holidays.” “And Rachel?” “Yes, of course; Rachel too. She had a great many invitations, but she preferred to stop in Paris. And then Grandfather needed her. Besides one doesn’t always do what one wants in this life--as I am obliged to repeat to the children now and then. One must think of other people. Do you suppose I shouldn’t have enjoyed going away for a change to Switzerland too? And Prosper? When he travels, do you suppose it’s for his pleasure?... Armand, you know I don’t like you to come in here without a collar on,” she added, as she saw her son enter the room. “My dear mother, you religiously taught me to attach no importance to my personal appearance,” said he, offering me his hand; “and with eminent _à propos_ too, as the wash doesn’t come home till Tuesday and all the rest of my collars are in rags.” I remembered what Olivier had told me about his schoolfellow, and it seemed to me that he was right and that an expression of profound anxiety lay hidden beneath the spiteful irony he affected. Armand’s face had fined down; his nose was pinched; it curved hawk-like over lips which had grown thin and colourless. He went on: