"Unless one had a head of cast-iron—It seems that these gentlemen have abused the liberty permitted in the country. From what Justine tells me, things have taken place which would have been more appropriate at the Femme-sans-Tete."
"Are you suffering very much?"
"A frightful neuralgia—I only wish I could sleep."
"I was wrong not to have thought of this. You will forgive me, will you not?"
Bergenheim leaned over the chair, passed his arm around the young woman's shoulders, and pressed his lips to her forehead. For the first time in his life, he was playing a part upon the marital stage, and he watched with the closest attention the slightest expression of his wife's face. He noticed that she shivered, and that her forehead which he had lightly touched was as cold as marble.
He arose and took several turns about the room, avoiding even a glance at her, for the aversion which she had just shown toward her husband seemed to him positive proof of the very thing he dreaded, and he feared he should not be able to contain himself.
"What is the matter with you?" she asked, as she noticed his agitation.
These words brought the Baron to his senses, and he returned to her side, replying in a careless tone:
"I am annoyed for a very simple cause; it concerns your aunt."
"I know. She is furious against you on account of the double misfortune to her dog and coachman. You will admit that, as far as Constance is concerned, you are guilty."