CHAPTER IX.
CLOUDS.
Savin was still sitting at the table. Though he had finished eating and drinking he still remained there, not wishing to move lest his wife should think he was following her to spy upon her actions. Fadard had the effrontery to accost him and ask permission to dance with Catherine.
“Madame Barrau,” replied the gamekeeper, “is at liberty to do as she pleases.”
Though he was daring by nature, Fadard thought it wiser to make no reply, and he was turning to withdraw when Andoche, flushed and besotted by a too senseless indulgence in his “besetting sin,” seized him by the lapel of his coat, saying: “You want to dance? Did you say you were thinking of dancing, at your age? It must have been a long time since you last looked in a mirror—ha! ha! ha! So you want to dance, eh?”
“And why shouldn’t I dance if I feel that way?”
“Fellow-citizens,” shouted Andoche in a high voice, pointing to Fadard, “behold this gentleman. Is it not a broad hint on the part of the ladies when they must needs ask their husbands’ consent to dance with him? And just to think of it—he doesn’t know people are laughing at him. My friend, you had much better remain in my society.”
Strange as it appeared, Fadard did not resent the blacksmith’s cutting remarks, and he offered no reply. Doubtless his reasons were good for not wishing to antagonize Andoche, or he certainly would have retaliated there and then. He walked toward the dancing-room, and rejoining Madame Barrau, acquainted her with Savin’s answer.
“So you see, madame, you are at liberty to dance with me or with another, just as you choose.”
“Oh, no,” replied Catherine. “Not unless I am legally authorized to do so.”
“You must be jesting.”