"Merci, monsieur!" the soldier saluted and went.
Urbain folded the letter, put it into his pocket, and returned silently to his breakfast. Something about him warned his wife that it would be better not to ask questions; but Anne seldom observed such warnings, for she did not know what it was to be afraid of Urbain, though she was often angry with him. With Angelot it was different; he had sometimes reason to fear his father; but for Anne, the tenderness was always greater than the severity.
They were alone for a few minutes, Angelot not having reappeared. While Urbain hurriedly devoured his sorrel and eggs, his wife gazed at him with anxious eyes across the table.
"You correspond with that odious General!" she said. "What about, my dear friend? What can he have to say to you?"
"Ah, bah! the curiosity of women!" said Monsieur Urbain, bending over his plate.
"Yes," Anne said, smiling faintly. "It exists, and therefore it must be gratified. Is not that a doctrine after your own heart? What was that letter about, tell me? You could not hide that it interested you deeply."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Remember, we never talk politics, you and I. Not even the politics of the department."
"It has something to do with the Chouans, then? With Joseph? Ah, but do not trust that man, Urbain! he has a horrid face. Did you see him yesterday? Did he say anything about Joseph—and about Ange? He has a spite against Ange, I believe."
"Do not be uneasy," Monsieur Urbain replied. "I did see him yesterday, if you must know, my dear Anne. He is friendly; well, you can see the letter. I do not choose to explain it altogether, but it speaks for itself."