When a sufficient cloud of smoke was spread around the room, Cuerrier asked, “Where is she?” Alexis darted a glance in the direction of the village, removing his pipe and pointing to the same quarter; then he heaved a relieved sigh, and commenced smoking again.
“So you are sure she’s out?” said Cuerrier.
Alexis looked uneasy. “No,” he answered, “I can’t be sure she’s out.”
Cuerrier burst into a hearty laugh. Alexis stepped to the door and listened; when he came back and sat down, Cuerrier said, without looking at him, “Look here, Alexis, I’m going to get married.”
His companion started so that he knocked some of the ashes from his pipe, then with a nervous jump he snatched the candle and went into the kitchen. Cuerrier, left in the dark, shook with silent laughter. Alexis came back after making sure that Diana was not there, and before seating himself he held the candle close to his friend’s face and surveyed him shrewdly.
“So, are you not mad?”
“No, I’m not mad.”
Alexis sat down, very much troubled in mind. “You see I’m not young, and the mother is getting old—see? Now, last week she fell down into the kitchen.”
“Well, your getting married won’t prevent her falling into the kitchen.”
“It is not that so much, Alexis, my good friend, but if you had no one to look after things—” here Alexis winced—“you would perhaps think of it too.”