She disappeared within her tent, and he betook himself to his.
M. Périères and M. de Morin were not so completely absorbed, the one in his notes of the expedition, and the other in his cigarette and the contemplation of nature, as to be entirely unconscious of the proceedings of Madam de Guéran and the Doctor. By-and-by they met, and made their comments on the lengthy tête-à-tête.
"What can he be saying to her?" asked M. Périères.
"I have not the remotest idea, but their conversation appears to be interesting."
"Yes, in this bright moonlight we can clearly distinguish Madame de
Guéran's countenance, and she seems moved. Do you think that the
Doctor is discussing our position with regard to her?"
"I am pretty sure of it," replied M, de Morin. "He is far too intelligent and observant not to have perceived the depth of our attachment. Why do you ask?"
"Because Delange is just the man to fall in love on his own account, if he did not see that we were in that plight."
"And, seeing it, you think that he would hold his hand?"
"Certainly, I do. He is too devoted to us, and he is too straightforward in his ideas to cross our path. Are you jealous, my dear fellow?"
"Of the Doctor? Oh, no. I have too much respect for Madame de Guéran; and, besides, I think she is too uncomfortable about her position with regard to us to wish to render it still more complicated."