Sylvie turned as red as a live coal.
"We wrote to the Institution of Saint-Jacques," remarked Rogron.
"That is a sort of hospital or almshouse for old people," said
Monsieur Desfondrilles, who knew Nantes. "She can't be there; they
receive no one under sixty."
"She is there, with her grandmother Lorrain," said Rogron.
"Her mother had a little fortune, the eight thousand francs which your
father--no, I mean of course your grandfather--left to her," said the
notary, making the blunder intentionally.
"Ah!" said Rogron, stupidly, not understanding the notary's sarcasm.
"Then you know nothing about your cousin's position or means?" asked
Monsieur Tiphaine.
"If Monsieur Rogron had known it," said the deputy-judge, "he would
never have left her all this time in an establishment of that kind. I
remember now that a house in Nantes belonging to Monsieur and Madame
Lorrain was sold under an order of the court, and that Mademoiselle
Lorrain's claim was swallowed up. I know this, for I was commissioner
at the time."
The notary spoke of Colonel Lorrain, who, had he lived, would have
been much amazed to know that his daughter was in such an institution.
The Rogrons beat a retreat, saying to each other that the world was
very malicious. Sylvie perceived that the news of her benevolence had
missed its effect,--in fact, she had lost ground in all minds; and she
felt that henceforth she was forbidden to attempt an intimacy with the
upper class of Provins.
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