As soon as they had gone Catherine said petulantly: “You need no longer fear that I shall be too gay. I could not be so if I tried.”
“I never objected to your having a good time—in a proper way,” replied Barrau gently, but with an unmistakable accent of firmness.
“But if I am not to dance it will be absurd for me to go to the wedding.”
“Nobody will prevent you from dancing.”
“Yes, so you say to-day; but when the time comes you will be just as jealous as ever, and I shall have to suffer for it.”
“Why talk so foolishly? You only weary me with this useless discussion.”
“I know it.”
“But believe me, my child, a woman who will excite her husband’s jealousy is either a coquette or a wilful vixen. It rests with you whether Suzanne’s wedding-day shall be an agreeable one to us.”
“Agreeable! I suppose it would be so to you if I neither raised my eyes, nor opened my mouth, nor danced with Bruno, nor Firmin, nor Andoche, or any young man whatsoever. But if old Father Mathieu, or Grassy, or Monsieur the Mayor should be so good as to invite me, then I may accept with alacrity. Bah!”
Savin, who had hoped to pave the way toward a reconciliation, now saw the folly of the endeavor and replied nothing. Whistling to Patachaud and taking his gun, he left the house.