"Stop, stop! Where are you going?" she called out.
"Oh, only for a stroll," he answered, without looking round, "to get a breath of air, if that is possible with this heat."
"Oh, no, what about the play?--You must come and work."
"Work will take it away! You really must come, we have only three days."
"But I am not indispensable; you can do without me," said Rueille irritably.
"From dictation; it is not necessary to be very clever for that."
"Yes it is; and then, too, we are used to you."
She was on the step above him, and, bending forward, she put her arms round his neck, and said in a coaxing tone:
"Paul, dear, come now, just to please me, you would be so nice, so very nice!"
M. de Rueille, turning abruptly, unclasped the soft arms, which encircled his neck and rested against his face.
"All right, all right!" he said, in a hoarse voice, "I'll come!"
The young girl stepped back, and in the evening-light he could see her large astonished eyes shining as she gazed at him.
"How cross you are!" she said timidly. "What's the matter with you?" He did not answer, and she asked again: "Won't you tell me?"
"No, no," he said curtly, and then he re-mounted the steps and went into the drawing-room.
Bijou followed him, and whispered to Bertrade:
"I don't know what is the matter with your husband, but he is very bad-tempered."
Madame de Rueille glanced at Paul. He looked rather fagged and nervous, and was trying to appear at his ease, as he talked and laughed noisily with the tutor, who, on the contrary, was silent and reserved.
"Yes, certainly something is the matter with him," said Bertrade, rather uneasy at seeing her husband so strange. "I do not know at all what it is, though," she added.
"Only imagine," Bijou proceeded to explain to the whole room, "Paul wanted to go for a stroll instead of coming to work. Yes, and it was not very easy to get him here, I can assure you."
With a resigned look, M. de Rueille took his seat at a side table with a marble top. He then took up the manuscript, and, turning to the page which was commenced, dipped a long, quill pen into the ink.
"Well, but first of all, where are we?" asked M. de Jonzac.
"My dear children, you will never have it finished," remarked the marchioness.