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Updated: May 16, 2025
Risler left them confronting each other, and went up to Fromont Jeune, whom he was greatly surprised to find there. "What, Chorche, you here? I supposed you were at Savigny." "Yes, to be sure, but I came I thought you stayed at Asnieres Sundays. I wanted to speak to you on a matter of business." Thereupon, entangling himself in his words, he began to talk hurriedly of an important order.
And what an event in the factory! Madame Fromont was informed at once. "Madame, Madame! Monsieur Risler is going out!" Claire looked at him from her window, and that tall form, bowed by sorrow, leaning on Sigismond's arm, aroused in her a profound, unusual emotion which she remembered ever after. In the street people bowed to Risler with great interest. Even their greetings warmed his heart.
At last one day Sidonie entered that paradise of which she had heretofore caught only a glimpse. Madame Fromont, to whom Risler often spoke of her little neighbor's beauty and intelligence, asked him to bring her to the children's ball she intended to give at Christmas. At first Monsieur Chebe replied by a curt refusal.
So long as she was in the midst of that luxury, she was conscious of softer impulses, she was happy and felt that she was embellished by her surroundings; but when she returned to her parents, when she saw the factory through the dirty panes of the window on the landing, she had an inexplicable feeling of regret and anger. And yet Claire Fromont treated her as a friend.
The money your wife has wormed out of the wretched Fromont, the house at Asnieres, the diamonds and all the rest is invested in her name, of course, out of reach of disaster; and of course you can retire from business now."
When Madame Fromont appeared, Risler smiled sadly and shook his head. "I thought that you would prefer to come down in his place; but you are not the one with whom I have to deal. It is absolutely necessary that I should see Georges and talk with him. We have paid the notes that fell due this morning; the crisis has passed; but we must come to an understanding about many matters."
Still talking, they enter the garden, which is as carefully kept as a public park, with round-topped acacias almost as old as the buildings, and magnificent ivies that hide the high, black walls. Beside Fromont jeune, Risler Aine has the appearance of a clerk making his report to his employer.
The dining-hall, brilliantly illuminated, was filled with gayety and laughter. Claire Fromont, embarrassed by the vulgarity of those about her, hardly spoke at all. Sidonie was at her brightest. The drive had given animation to her pale complexion and Parisian eyes. She knew how to laugh, understood a little too much, perhaps, and seemed to the male guests the only woman in the party.
Coachmen were warming themselves around the stove, chatting and laughing amid the smoke from their pipes. When Risler appeared there was profound silence, a cunning, inquisitive, significant silence. They had evidently been speaking of him. "Is the Fromont child still sick?" he asked. "No, not the child, Monsieur." "Monsieur Georges sick?" "Yes, he was taken when he came home to-night.
"What can be the matter? What have I done to her?" Claire Fromont very often wondered when she thought of Sidonie. She was entirely ignorant of what had formerly taken place between her friend and Georges at Savigny.
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