In
the first place La Mere Bauche had under those green spectacles a
heart that in truth was tender and affectionate, and after the first
two days of anger she admitted that something must be done for Marie
Clavert; and after the fourth day she acknowledged that the world of
the hotel, her world, would not go as well without Marie Clavert as
it would with her. And in the next place Madame Bauche had a friend
whose advice in grave matters she would sometimes take. This friend
had told her that it would be much better to send away Adolphe, since
it was so necessary that there should be a sending away of some one;
that he would be much benefited by passing some months of his life
away from his native valley; and that an absence of a year or two
would teach him to forget Marie, even if it did not teach Marie to
forget him.
And we must say a word or two about this friend. At Vernet he was
usually called M. le Capitaine, though in fact he had never reached
that rank. He had been in the army, and having been wounded in the
leg while still a sous-lieutenant, had been pensioned, and had thus
been interdicted from treading any further the thorny path that leads
to glory. For the last fifteen years he had resided under the roof
of Madame Bauche, at first as a casual visitor, going and coming, but
now for many years as constant there as she was herself.
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