She entered, dressed in a kind of dressing gown, elegant as everything she wore, but which would have been more suitable for a married woman than a young girl. Obviously surprised undressed by Lucien's visit, she had dressed up to receive him, and the hair, a little messy, and grains of rice powder, still lost on her cheeks, testified to the too great precipitation.
“You are asking for my father,” she said, reaching out to him. “Do you have to talk to him?
“No,” he said gravely. “I knew Mr. Berard was out; it's you alone that I want to see.”
She looked at him with concern, waved at him to sit on the couch, and took his seat next to him.
“Speak,” she said.
He then said what had happened in his life over the past month: his projects, his conversation with M.me d'Aubier, his continuous s
