He was about to explain to her why he could not marry his cousin, but it occurred to him that the very prosaic reason for the impossibility of such a match, would make his return to Madame de Nézel, of whom he was really very fond, appear as a slight to her.
"It has only been a passing fancy that I have had for Bijou," he said. "How could I help it? it is simply impossible to be always with her and to escape being intoxicated by her beauty, and by her unconscious and innocent coquetry. For the last fortnight I have been a fool--I am still, in fact; but on seeing you again I knew at once that it is you only whom I love, and belong to--heart and soul."
As he said this, he drew Madame de Nézel's pale face against his shoulder, and, bending down, pressed his lips to hers, and then, as the young widow nestled closer still in his arms, he said, with passionate tenderness:
"How do you think that I could ever care for that child--with whom I am always so reserved--in the way I care for you?" He could feel her slender form trembling in his embrace, and, drawing her closer still, he murmured: "Forgive me, darling, you are always so good, and if I have sinned, it has only been in thought."
"You know I love you," she answered. "But we must go back to the house at once; they will think our walk is lasting a long time."
Madame de Juzencourt, who was seated on the terrace, called out as soon as she caught sight of them:
"Well, have you been walking all this time?"
And at the same moment M. de Rueille called out to Bijou, who had just appeared at one of the windows:
"So that's the way you come out to us! It's very kind of you."
"I could not come before," she answered, stepping out, and then approaching her cousin, she added, in a low voice: "I had to see to the tea and the ices, etc., etc.; you must not be vexed with me."
"Vexed with you!" exclaimed Pierrot warmly. "Could anyone be vexed with _you_, now?"
Bijou did not answer. She was watching Hubert de Bernès in an absent-minded way, as he stood talking to Bertrade, and she was wondering how it was that he was so cool in his manner towards herself. He was polite, certainly, and even pleasant, but _only_ polite and pleasant, and she was not accustomed to such moderation. M. de Clagny appeared presently at one of the windows and called out: