“Which son? She has so many.” “Why, the officer--Marcel.” “What is his rank?” “Captain. He has been decorated and is famous,” said Jean Berlier hurriedly. He was rather annoyed at being thus questioned, for the dark eyed girl was calling him. But Madame Dulaurens would not release him. “Famous?” she demanded. “What did he do?” “Didn’t you hear about the fight at Andriba, when his company’s action decided the day?” “Are you sure?” “Quite sure. The name of Marcel Guibert is known throughout the whole of France.” This, of course, was a great exaggeration. Modern France does not make a display of her military glory. But Madame Dulaurens was impressed and immediately went over to Madame Guibert. The widow was becoming interesting, in spite of her ruined fortunes, if her son had so great a reputation. “The Captain comes home to-night, Madame,” she began. “The thoughts of us all followed him out there during that terrible campaign, in which he did so much honor to his country. The papers told us the story of his bravery at the battle of Andriba.” Behind his wife, Monsieur Dulaurens, a mild, ceremonious little man, was nodding his head in sign of approval, while Clément, a fat and jovial youth of eighteen, who had listened to his mother’s words with amazement, pulled at the sleeve of Jean Berlier and whispered: “Mother has no lack of assurance, has she? She reads nothing but the society paragraphs in the ‘_Gaulois_’ How could she have remembered a Malagasy name? I know them all--even the most difficult ones. I got them up for a joke once, because of course I know nothing about the expedition. I’ll tell you a few. Ankerramadinika ...” In the midst of the throng Madame Guibert felt painfully uncomfortable. Just as her poor mourning robes (though carefully mended by her daughter’s hand) contrasted with the fashionable evening gowns, so too she felt that not a thought in common united her to these society people. The whole party had come up and was complimenting her. After Madame Dulaurens’s congratulations, she received those of Madame Orlandi, an old Italian Countess who lived in retirement at Chambéry, and whose many nervous complaints had provided sufficient employment for her doctor. De Marthenay, the lieutenant of dragoons, fixed her with his eyeglass in curiosity that was almost insolent. She answered the questions addressed to her very simply and timidly, her cheeks suffused with blushes; and Paule, noticing her plight, came to her assistance. She was more at ease, but could not prevent a certain stiffness showing itself in her manner, in spite of the friendly demonstrations of the two girls--the brunette, Isabelle Orlandi, whose remarks were as affected as her attitudes, and still more the other, Alice Dulaurens, who was fair and naturally gracious. The latter overwhelmed Paule with attentions and kindness. She had a pretty voice, lisping and softening the hard sounds, and blending all her words in an even sweetness.