“Indeed, I do,” she agreed: “I can read it all quite distinctly.” She scrutinised the path again. “And Maurice. I don’t see Maurice.” “He’s further back, I think, with some one else.” Mrs. Roquevillard, satisfied, placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “That must be our son-in-law, Charles Marcellaz. The roll is complete. I count them always, just as I did when they were little--Germaine, Hubert, Maurice, Margaret.” “And Felicie was always absent,” he said. A shadow darkened his features: he could never accustom himself to the absence of his second daughter, now a Little Sister of the Poor across the seas in Hanoi. Mrs. Roquevillard leant more heavily on her husband’s arm. “No, Francis, she’s not so far from us. Her thoughts are with us. I know and feel it. Hubert, who saw her on his way back from China, found her happy. And then, one day, we shall all be united.” He was afraid of his feelings, and began counting the approaching group again. “That’s not Charles coming with Maurice,” he said. “It’s a woman. They have left the short cut. They’re spreading out.” “It’s Mrs. Frasne, perhaps. Do you see her husband?” “Yes, it’s she; but I don’t see the notary.” “He’ll come up later with Charles. Their studies keep them till six o’clock.” “The Frasnes dine here this evening, don’t they?” he asked. She seemed to make excuses for it as for a fault. “Yes. They often ask Maurice there, and he begged me to invite them.” They were silent a moment, both with the same concern. “I don’t like that woman,” she said at last. “And why?” Mrs. Roquevillard fixed her clear eyes on the sun set. “I don’t know. We’ve no idea where she came from, and tremble to think how far she’ll go. She’s not good looking, but just the sight of her makes the mothers worry for their sons, and the wives for their husbands.” “What a pity,” he said. “Who’s been talking to you about her?” “Nobody. All I know I have guessed at. Those who pray much are not always the worst informed. She has strange eyes, dark but with fire in them. She frightens me.” “Ah! I see. Well, people in the village do talk about her and our son.” “Maurice should be warned,” said his mother. “He should be warned at once.” “But, my dear, how shall we go about it? We are not certain of anything. Gossip and talk, what do they signify?” “It isn’t the gossip. I feel trouble coming. I am sure of it. He is in some danger.” “Sometimes combating a love affair only brings it to a head,” Mr. Roquevillard replied. “You know that. You consented to having the Frasnes asked here. Besides, young people don’t tolerate any meddling in their lives, Maurice least of all. He’s very proud. He’s not twenty-four yet, and a doctor of law. He has complete confidence in himself. He has absurd theories on the right to be happy, the necessity of one’s own personal development. Paris sends them back to us more refined, but rebellious. It takes experience to make them really wise.”