“Come in, Jacques,” said Savin, “and welcome, Suzanne. Happy to see you all.”
The little party entered joyously, but the face of Catherine froze the words upon their tongues, the smiles upon their lips. Pale, stern, and relentless, she scarcely replied to those who addressed her.
“She will bring bad luck upon us with that terrible look,” thought Suzanne.
Jacques Percier spoke to Catherine, extending the usual compliments and saying: “Madame Barrau, our happiness will not be complete unless you are present at our marriage. Will you accept a bonbon?”
He offered her the box. She stepped back a little.
“I thank you, Jacques,” said she. “May you be happy as you deserve to be.”
A look of disappointment passed over his face, and noticing it Catherine added: “It is not for me to accept or to decline. I am not mistress here.”
“Then you, Monsieur Savin, will you not—” But before Jacques had finished speaking Savin took two dragées from the box, eating one and giving the other to his wife.
“Catherine exaggerates,” said he. “There are some things that a wife cannot do without consulting her husband, but she accepts your invitation, I am sure, and so do I, with pleasure. You will please accept from me a roebuck—if Madame le Hausseur allows me to kill one.”
Catherine bit her lips in mortification and vexation. But Savin had broken the ice, and when he brought out some fine old curaçoa the callers regaled themselves freely and all became merry again.