“Oh,” said she, flinging herself on the sofa and motioning to us to sit down, “Gaston knows what my music is like. It is all very well when I am alone with the count, but I won’t inflict such a punishment on you.”
“You show me that preference?” said M. de N., with a smile which he tried to render delicately ironical.
“Don’t reproach me for it. It is the only one.” It was fated that the poor man was not to say a single word. He cast a really supplicating glance at Marguerite.
“Well, Prudence,” she went on, “have you done what I asked you to do?”
“Yes.
“All right. You will tell me about it later. We must talk over it; don’t go before I can speak with you.”
“We are doubtless intruders,” I said, “and now that we, or rather I, have had a second introduction, to blot out the first, it is time for Gaston and me to be going.”
“Not in the least. I didn’t mean that for you. I want you to stay.”
The count took a very elegant watch out of his pocket and looked at the time. “I must be going to my club,” he said. Marguerite did not answer. The count thereupon left his position by the fireplace and going up to her, said: “Adieu, madame.”
Marguerite rose. “Adieu, my dear count. Are you going already?”