Him! That word strangely impressed Bruno. For the second time she had designated her husband without speaking his name, as though the sound were odious to her.
“Never mind,” he said. “Take the trout, please. It will give me great pleasure if you will.”
But Catherine refused. However, she did not pass on. From time to time she made a motion as though about to speak. Her eyes were brighter than usual, and a flush suffused her cheek. Bruno, supposing she had something important to say, waited patiently. But soon her expression changed. She looked at the young man long and earnestly. Then, as though renouncing some idea as untimely or impracticable, she briefly said: “Adieu, Bruno.”
“Adieu,” he returned, with a sigh.
They were about to separate, when, with an impulsive gesture, Catherine turned resolutely and whispered in his ear: “Do you love me, Bruno?”
In answer, Bruno, seizing her hand, muttered a few unintelligible words.
“Tell me, Bruno,” persisted Catherine, wishing a coherent reply, “do you love me?”
After all that she had said concerning her husband, and after all the regret she had manifested, this question amounted to a confession. Bruno took her passionately in his arms and rained kisses on her face.
“Then,” she continued, with a greater show of reserve, “what if I ask of you something?”
“You have need of me!” cried Bruno in ecstasy. “Oh, speak, Madame; you have only to command. I am eager to do your bidding.”