Monsieur Farival thought that Victor should have been taken out in
mid-ocean in his earliest youth and drowned. Victor thought there would
be more logic in thus disposing of old people with an established claim
for making themselves universally obnoxious. Madame Lebrun grew a trifle
hysterical; Robert called his brother some sharp, hard names.
"There's nothing much to explain, mother," he said; though he explained,
nevertheless--looking chiefly at Edna--that he could only meet the
gentleman whom he intended to join at Vera Cruz by taking such and such
a steamer, which left New Orleans on such a day; that Beaudelet was
going out with his lugger-load of vegetables that night, which gave him
an opportunity of reaching the city and making his vessel in time.
"But when did you make up your mind to all this?" demanded Monsieur
Farival.
"This afternoon," returned Robert, with a shade of annoyance.
"At what time this afternoon?" persisted the old gentleman, with nagging
determination, as if he were cross-questioning a criminal in a court of
justice.
"At four o'clock this afternoon, Monsieur Farival," Robert replied, in
a high voice and with a lofty air, which reminded Edna of some gentleman
on the stage.
She had forced herself to eat most of her soup, and now she was picking
the flaky bits of a court bouillon with her fork.
The lovers were profiting by the general conversation on Mexico to speak
in whispers of matters which they rightly considered were interesting
to no one but themselves. The lady in black had once received a pair
of prayer-beads of curious workmanship from Mexico, with very special
indulgence attached to them, but she had never been able to ascertain
whether the indulgence extended outside the Mexican border. Father
Fochel of the Cathedral had attempted to explain it; but he had not
done so to her satisfaction. And she begged that Robert would interest
himself, and discover, if possible, whether she was entitled to the
indulgence accompanying the remarkably curious Mexican prayer-beads.
Madame Ratignolle hoped that Robert would exercise extreme caution
in dealing with the Mexicans, who, she considered, were a treacherous
people, unscrupulous and revengeful. She trusted she did them no
injustice in thus condemning them as a race. She had known personally
but one Mexican, who made and sold excellent tamales, and whom she would
have trusted implicitly, so soft-spoken was he. One day he was arrested
for stabbing his wife. She never knew whether he had been hanged or not.
Victor had grown hilarious, and was attempting to tell an anecdote
about a Mexican girl who served chocolate one winter in a restaurant in
Dauphine Street. No one would listen to him but old Monsieur Farival,
who went into convulsions over the droll story.