Mme. de Brecourt came out to meet her
in the vestibule, drawing her quickly into a small room--not the salon;
Francie knew it as her hostess's "own room," a lovely boudoir--in which,
considerably to the girl's relief, the rest of the family were not
assembled. Yet she guessed in a moment that they were near at hand--they
were waiting. Susan looked flushed and strange; she had a queer smile;
she kissed her as if she didn't know she was doing it. She laughed as
she greeted her, but her laugh was extravagant; it was a different
demonstration every way from any Francie had hitherto had to reckon
with. By the time our young lady had noted these things she was sitting
beside her on a sofa and Mme. de Brecourt had her hand, which she held
so tight that it almost hurt her. Susan's eyes were in their nature
salient, but on this occasion they seemed to have started out of her
head.
"We're upside down--terribly agitated. A thunderbolt has fallen on the
house."
"What's the matter--what's the matter?" Francie asked, pale and with
parted lips. She had a sudden wild idea that Gaston might have found out
in America that her father had no money, had lost it all; that it had
been stolen during their long absence.
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