He was silent for a moment.
“I can but make one more sacrifice for you, Charlotte,” he said, pompously.
“Thanks! thanks! How good you are!” she cried.
And they lowered their voices, for Dr. Hirsch was heard descending the stairs.
It was a most singular conversation—syllabic and disjointed—he affecting great repugnance, she great brevity. “It was impossible to trust to a letter,” Charlotte said. Then, terrified at her own audacity, she added, “Suppose I go to Tours myself.”
With the utmost tranquillity he answered, “Very well, we will go.”
“How good you are, dear!” she cried: “you will go with me there, and then to Indret with the money!” and the foolish creature kissed his hands with tears. The truth was that he did not care for her to go to Tours without him; he knew that she had lived there and been happy. Suppose she should never return to him! She was so weak, so shallow, so inconsistent! The sight of her old lover, of the luxury she had relinquished—the influence of her child, might decide her to cast aside the heavy chains with which he had loaded her. In addition, he was by no means averse to this little journey, nor to playing his part in the drama at Indret.
He told Charlotte that he would never abandon her, that he was ready to share her sorrows as well as her joys; and, in short, convinced Charlotte that he loved her more than ever.
At dinner he said to Doctor Hirsch, “We are obliged to go to Indret, the child has got into trouble, and you must keep house in our absence.” They left by the night express and reached Tours early in the morning. The old friend of Ida de Barancy lived in one of those pretty châteaux overlooking the Loire. He was a widower without children, an excellent man, and a man of the world. In spite of her infidelity, he had none but the kindest recollection of the light-hearted woman who for a time had brightened his solitude. He consequently replied to a little note sent by Charlotte that he was ready to receive her.
D’Argenton and she took a carriage from the hotel, and as they approached the château, Charlotte began to grow uneasy. “It cannot be,” she said to herself, “that he intends to go in with me!” She sat in the corner of the carriage, looking out at the fields where she had so often wandered with the boy, who was now wearing a workman’s blouse.