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Updated: June 2, 2025
Waldeaux for the penny's hire for her chair. As he hobbled away, he looked back at her curiously. "She gave him a shilling!" exclaimed Lisa, as he passed them. "I told you she was not fit to take care of money." "But why not wait until to-morrow to talk of business? She is hurt and unnerved just now, and she she does not like you, Lisa." "I am not afraid. She will be civil.
But now that this son comes to marry, to become the head of the house, if you were a French mother, if you were just, you would You appear to be amused, madam?" For Mrs. Waldeaux was laughing. She could not speak for a moment. The tears stood in her eyes. "The matter has somewhat of droll to you?" "It has its humorous side," said Frances.
"Her mother's grave was covered with roses " Frances answered quickly. "They will creep over to her. She is not alone, George. I am glad she was laid by her mother. She loved her dearly." "Yes. Better than any thing on earth," he responded gloomily. A few moments later the ship swung heavily around. "We are going!" Mrs. Waldeaux cried, waving her hand. "Won't you look at Clara and Lucy, George?
Waldeaux abhorred cousinly intimates people who run into your back door to pry into the state of your larder or your income. But Miss Vance, as Frances knew, unfortunately held a key to her back door. She knew of George's wretched daubs, and his insane desire, when he was a boy, to study art. He gave it up years ago. Why should she nag him now about it?
George Waldeaux took his mother and boy back to the old homestead in Delaware. They arrived at night, and early the next morning he rowed away in his bateau to some of his old haunts in the woods on the bay, and was seen no more that day. "He is inconsolable!" his mother told some of her old neighbors who crowded to welcome her. "His heart is in that grave in Vannes."
"I have thought of them," said Mrs. Waldeaux slowly. "I have had lovers who came close to me as friends, but I never for a moment was tempted to marry one of them. No, Clara. When the devil drove my father to hand me over innocent child as I was to a man like Robert Waldeaux, he killed in me the capacity for that kind of love. It is not in me."
She had laid her little white fingers on his hand and now, feeling it burn and tremble at her touch, she caught it in both of her own and drew him into the house. "Mr. Waldeaux," she said to a servant who appeared, "has had a fall. Bring him water and towels. Take care of him, Stephen." She spoke quietly, but her voice trembled with fright. The man led George to an inner room.
She was a thin woman, quietly dressed; white hair and black brows, with gold eye-glasses bridging an aquiline nose, gave her a commanding, inquisitorial air. "Well, Frances!" she began briskly, "I have not had time before to attend to you. Are your bags hung in your stateroom?" "I haven't been down yet," said Mrs. Waldeaux meekly. "We were watching the fog in the sun." "Fog! Mercy on me!
I have no doubt it was a fair share as much as if my father had left me my portion, according to custom." "Yes, it was a fair share," said Frances. "Ah! you smile, madam!" interrupted Lisa. "I am told it is a vast property, a grand chateau many securities! M. Waldeaux pere made a will, on dit, incredibly foolish, with no mention of his son.
I will find standing room for George Waldeaux," with a complacent smile. "And in the meantime, of course, I must make money enough to support you and the boy handsomely. So you see, mother," he ended, laughing, "I have no time to lose." "No, George!" It was the proudest moment of her life. How heroic and generous he was!
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