Anne Douglas Sedgwick

“ Alix had told tales. That was evident. Giles summoned an answering smile with which to own that nothing could be further from his wishes than to have tea with mesdames Dumont and Collet.
“You do not care for our ancient neighbor?”
“Not at all,” said Giles.
“Ah, in her day, la pauvre vieille, she had her qualities,” said monsieur de Maubert.
“Blanche told me that Grand'mère found you un jeune homme très sévère,” said madame Vervier, her eyes still resting on him as if with a mild amusement. “She is not accustomed to young men such as you. I do not think she has ever met such a one. ”

“ With so much intelligence one needs more. It is that one feels in her. The sheath is too thin. The blade comes through.”
“Vous êtes méchant,” said madame Vervier, and there was in her voice none of the inciting gaiety usual to the reproach; she spoke gravely, looking down at the cloth and slightly moving her spoon and fork upon it, and Giles suddenly divined that poor mademoiselle Blanche was in love with André.
“Mais non! Mais non! I think her charming,” laughed André. “But I can understand that madame Dumont is her grandmother.” ”

“ Above the marigolds, Alix, in Maman's place, poured out their coffee, heavy-eyed but still adequate.
Monsieur de Maubert and André argued about politics with an impersonal vehemence that recalled to Giles, in its transposed key, the altercation of the friendly men in the train. He gathered, however, that they were both agreed on the necessity of a strong man for France and on many lopped heads. The French had not changed so much since the Revolution after all. ”