With her habitual resolution she opened to Odette the purpose of her visit. She had heard--it was rumored--that her dear friend, having amply and worthily overpassed the period of her widowhood, was purposing--not by inclination, but in order to accomplish a great act of charity--to become the wife of a blinded officer. People were talking about it. She herself had been extremely moved by the news, and all the more because she feared that she had incurred a certain responsibility in the matter, having probably been one of the first to urge upon the young widow the duty of a second marriage. Odette was amazed. What were people about? Never had she had the slightest idea of such a thing. Startled at first, she went on, almost laughing, to hear what Mme. de Blauve had to say. "It is untrue, you say," said Mme. de Blauve; "but, my little friend, experience has taught me that there is always a grain of truth at the bottom of a wide-spread rumor. Whether good or bad, such plants do not grow out of nothing." Odette told her upon how slight a fact this rumor might possibly have been based. She had lunched at Clotilde Avvogade's with a blinded officer, and Clotilde insisted that she had pleased him. "Nothing more would be needed!" said Mme. de Blauve, "and your friend has probably told the story all around. It must be so, for I have heard the name of the man, the institution where he has been re-educated; I even know all about his circumstances; he is a widower without fortune of any sort, and father of two little children about whom he feels great anxiety." "Well," said Odette, "for my part I knew nothing of these last particulars, and this is surely a proof that my romance has not gone very far." Mme. de Blauve was lost in apologies. Nevertheless, she did not go so far as to regret the step she had taken. If it proved to have no reason in the present case, an analogous case might arise; she knew Odette's susceptibility, the noble impulses of her soul, and it was her duty to warn her against impressions and impulses---- "What!" interrupted Odette; "you, madame, whose daughter----" "Yes, yes, precisely I, 'whose daughter'--It is because my daughter has made a marriage--beautiful, surely, from the moral point of view, but, after all, a marriage--how shall I say it--somewhat daring, that I believe myself to be authorized to say to you: 'My very dear child, be careful, reflect!' Understand me; I regret nothing that has occurred; I congratulate myself on the happiness which my daughter is assuring to a victim of the war, who is a hundred times deserving of it. Let me tell you, by way of parenthesis, that my daughter has hope of a child, and I trust that God will bring everything out right, although----" "Although," repeated Odette anxiously.