“What is the matter with you? You are crying!” exclaimed Cayrol, anxiously.
“It is nothing; my nerves are shaken. I am thinking of this chateau which bears my name. Here I spent my youth, and here my father died. A thousand ties bind me to this dwelling, and I cannot leave it without being overcome.”
“Another home awaits you, luxuriantly adorned,” murmured Cayrol, “and worthy of receiving you. It is there you will live henceforth with me, happy through me, and belonging to me.”
Then, ardently supplicating her, he added:
He tried to take her in his arms, but the young wife disengaged herself.
“What is it? You are trembling and frightened!”
“Am I so very terrible, then? Or is it the idea of leaving here that troubles you so much? If so, why did you not tell me sooner? I can understand things. Let us remain here for a few days, or as long as you like. I have arranged my affairs so as to be at liberty. Our little paradise can wait for us.”
He spoke pleasantly, but with an undercurrent of anxiety.
Jeanne came slowly to him, and calmly taking his hand, said:
“I am not making any efforts to be so,” retorted Cayrol, smiling. “What do I ask? That you may be happy and satisfied.”
“Well, do you wish to please me?” asked the young wife.
“Yes!” exclaimed Cayrol, warmly, “tell me how.”
“Madame Desvarennes will be very lonely tomorrow when her daughter will be gone. She will need consoling--”
“Ah, ah,” said Cayrol, thinking that he understood, “and you would like--”
“I would like to remain some time with her. You could come every day and see us. I would be very grateful to you, and would love you very much!”
“But--but--but--!” exclaimed Cayrol, much confounded, “you cannot mean what you say, Jeanne! What, my dear? You wish me to return alone to Paris to-night? What would my servants say? You would expose me to ridicule!”
Poor Cayrol made a piteous face. Jeanne looked at him as she had never looked before. It made his blood boil.
“Would you be so very ridiculous for having been delicate and tender?”
“I don’t see what tenderness has to do with it,” cried Cayrol; “on the contrary! But I love you. You don’t seem to think it!”
“Prove it,” replied Jeanne, more provokingly.
“Is it in leaving you that I shall prove it? Really, Jeanne, I am disposed to be kind and to humor your whims, but on condition that they are reasonable. You seem to be making fun of me! If I give way on such important points on the day of our marriage, whither will you lead me? No; no! You are my wife. The wife must follow her husband; the law says so!”