'Was that the same cure that Mademoiselle Ludérac struck?' asked Jill, when they had done laughing.
Madame de Lamouderie's triumphant smile vanished and she looked at her, arrested. 'Mademoiselle Ludérac? You know her? She has already spoken with you?'
'We don't know her at all. We were only told how fond she was of animals;—you told us that, too;—and how she tried to save the curé's cat.'
The old lady still looked disconcerted as though the mention of her landlady's name had damped her spirits. 'They are not friends;—not friends at all, Marthe and the curé. But it is not fair to say she struck him. Marthe is very gentle. He hurt the cat in trying to get it from her and it was only then that she raised her hand against him.' And suddenly the old lady laughed. 'I should have liked to see his face! He is a pompous man and it was, I feel sure, a good, bold blow. He shows a forgiving spirit in coming to hear my confession after that episode. And indeed we never speak of it.'
'And aren't we to see her? Aren't we to make her acquaintance to-day?' Jill asked. 'I love animals, too; and I feel I should like Mademoiselle Ludérac.'
The old lady gazed at her, sobered once more, and Jill realized that her expression was like nothing so much as that of a child who has been asked to share a box of chocolates with a companion.
'But yes, certainly; of course you will make her acquaintance—since you will so often make me glad
